


What We Once Had

by revampired



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom America (Hetalia), Bullying, Family Drama, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, also all the america/japan is consensual, most of the really heavy stuff is in the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:45:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5810578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revampired/pseuds/revampired
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred returns to the town he grew up in for the first time in years, only to find that his parents have invited his ex-boyfriend and first love, Kiku Honda, to their Thanksgiving day celebrations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings!! This fic has a lot of referenced homophobia and rape mentions, though I tried to keep both fairly non-graphic. The "explicit" warning is for later chapters. 
> 
> This is actually kind of a continuation of a fic I wrote aaaaaages ago, which dealt with the lead up to and immediate aftermath of the things referenced in this fic, but you don't need to have read it to understand what's going on if I've done my job right. 
> 
> Next chapter coming soon!

Alfred hated Thanksgiving.

There was a point in time where it was his favorite holiday – he had fading, fuzzy memories of twinkling chandelier lights and roasted turkey, his grandmother laughing and his brother laughing and a full belly of food putting him to sleep on the couch as the football game rattled on in the background.

There was also a point in time when he loved his tight-knit Chicago town. His brother was on the hockey team, and he was on the football team, and he and his then-boyfriend were planning out their whole life together in the hidden corners between houses, where no one could see.

Maybe loved was the wrong word – he’d fit in there. He had friends, friends who didn’t know about. Well. There was a reason he hadn’t set foot in his house since he’d graduated high school nearly six years ago.

His hometown was a scabbed, cracked wound that flared up at exactly this time each year, and here he was picking at the bleeding edges.

* * *

 

His mother and father were waiting in the driveway as the airport shuttle pulled in. Everything looked the same – the carefully trimmed greenery, the polished gold number hanging on the door, the holly bushes bright green with red berries, begging to be adorned with gleaming Christmas lights. Alfred was sure they soon would be.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and positively radiated holiday cheer as he ran to embrace them. They looked older. His mother’s makeup was heavier, her hair impeccably dyed to prevent any greys from showing, wrinkles barely visible as she smiled in a tight-lipped, nervous way. His father’s beer belly seemed to get bigger and bigger the more Alfred saw him, but he still emanated an easy charm and authority, hair a handsome salt and pepper gray.

“Oh, Al, we’re so glad you made it this year,” his father boomed, clapping him on the back, “Your Auntie is coming in, both your grandmas – it’ll be a proper Jones family thanksgiving with you here. What was your boss thinkin’, trying to keep you from celebrating Thanksgiving?”

In truth, he’d only used that as an excuse. It was only after five different cajoling phone calls from his dad and one from his brother begging him not to leave him alone that he’d agreed. _It’s been six years. I’m sure I can handle two and a half days back,_ he’d thought. Then, _I’m going to need to take the rainbow flag pins off my backpack before I go, aren’t I?_ “Yeah! Man, my boss is such a pain. He probably doesn’t even have anyone to celebrate with so he doesn’t want anyone else to have fun.”

They slipped into an easy conversation, with his mother rolling her eyes and raising up her hands, exasperated.

The house smelled like homemade cranberry sauce and spiced hard cider. Matthew’s flight didn’t get in until the evening – he was delayed due to snow and ice at the Toronto airport. Alfred felt an uncomfortable prickle of fear at that. He’d been hoping to have Matthew get in before him, or at the same time, and that he wouldn’t need to entertain neighbors and people who knew him from high school. Did anyone remember the way he did, or was it just another scandal that shook the town and floated away in the normal flow of gossip, like Elizaveta’s pregnancy and subsequent eloping with an Austrian exchange student?

Did anyone still wake up with nightmares the way he did, alone and begging for understanding?

“Can I help with anything, Ma?” Alfred called, shifting his heavy backpack. “I won’t mess anything up, promise.”

His mother smiled uneasily, clearly trying to choose her words as carefully as possible. “No, Al, don’t worry. Just relax – make yourself at home.”

Alfred nodded, vaguely wondering if that was a good sign or not, and made his way upstairs to what was once his room.

It was bigger than he remembered, though that was partly because it wasn’t cluttered with school supplies and trophies. Alfred winced as he remembered what had happened to the latter of the two.

_His hands were cut and raw from collecting bits of broken plastic, and the trash bag felt like it was full of lead. His legs still ached and his body was bruised, and he lifted the trash bag high before tossing it with the rest of the family’s garbage. Alfred imagined the trash compactor crushing the plastic and marble and metal beneath it into dust, imagined his own body destroyed beneath the plates. He wanted to die. He would do anything to stop hurting, to stop –_

Alfred realized that he was frozen in place, trembling. Flashbacks were a normal, if fading, part of his life by now. They were like thunderstorms, dark and growling and demanding his attention with each booming clap and flash of lightning, but they didn’t terrorize him like they used to. He was a bit surprised he’d had one so soon after arriving, but honestly he was mostly grateful it hadn’t been of anything worse.

He tossed his bag on the bed with more ferocity than he intended and pulled out his laptop. His old desk was still there, an inoffensive black and white painted wood structure, and Alfred wondered whether years of notebooks and papers were still stashed in the drawers. He didn’t check. Instead, he opened CAD on his laptop and began work on a model for a new compact nuclear-powered engine, working slowly and deliberately on how the various parts fit together.

The work was strangely relaxing, settling the feeling of unease that Alfred realized had been pooling in his stomach.

After some indeterminable amount of time, Alfred heard a knock at the door, and looked up to find his mirror image smiling at him gently.

“Matt,” Alfred breathed, almost tripping over his backpack in his haste to embrace his brother. Matthew looked good – he was tall and lean with just the barest hint of stubble prickling along his jaw. There was a confidence in his stance that Alfred admired.

“Hey, Al. Good to see you! It’s been a while.” Matthew’s embrace was strong, but he pulled back to yawn. “Sorry, jeez I’m tired. I can’t believe it’s been months since I’ve seen you and I’m fighting to stay awake.”

Alfred laughed. “No worries. Something about this place just sucks the life out of you. How’s Canada, anyway? You got a moose for a neighbor? Does anyone actually live up there?”

“Yeah,” Matthew sniffed, looking genuinely offended, “You know, no one thought the Canada jokes were funny when I first moved. Now they're just even more  _annoying_.”

Alfred punched him in the arm, and Matthew lurched forward, grabbing Alfred and putting him in a brotherly headlock, giving him an absolutely vicious noogie.

“Ow!” Alfred cried out, laughing, “Get off me, you commie bastard-”

Matthew let him go, rolling his eyes as he stepped back. “God knows why I miss you.”

“Because I’m awesome. And hilarious.”

“Hilariously _stupid-”_

At that moment, Alfred heard the familiar call to dinner – “Boys, stop fighting and eat!”

It was so familiar, all of it, just like he’d never left. The thought made him queasy.

* * *

 

After an awkwardly silent dinner where his parents absolutely avoided the topic of romance by any means necessary, even going so far as to tell Matthew he ought to focus on his work when he brought up his cute Belgian coworker, his parents put him and Matthew to work setting up anything and everything except what absolutely needed to be done the following day.

His father handed him a list of those attending absent-mindedly, saying, “Alfred, make sure everyone's place card's made up for tomorrow. You're good at that artsy stuff, right?”

Alfred winced internally. No, in truth he was absolutely horrible at everything that involved creativity and art, while his brother, who owned a coffee shop and cake decorating business in Toronto, was great at it – but he took the paper with only a mildly annoyed look. His parents had nearly begged him to come home after telling him about how they had watched _Philadelphia_ and just cried, oh Alfred it was so sad, and if they were going to attempt to reconcile things in their own way he would try not to be combative.

The list was long, but not as long as before. Alfred remembered their thirty-person Thanksgivings and the chaos that filled the house for three full days before, digging out old tablecloths and silverware and chairs from the basement.

He scanned the list, making a mental note of who to avoid and who he couldn't. Among the Jones and Bielschmidts and his mother's sisters was one name that hit him like a punch in the gut.

 _Kiku Honda._ Alfred's fingers went cold and numb and his breath got shallower. His father was rambling good naturedly, something about how they got Bowie's entire discography, if Alfred wanted to listen it, but his hearing was getting fuzzy at the edges.

“Y-you invited the Hondas?” Alfred choked out. His mind was reeling, he was going into panic mode – was it too late to go back to California and his job? He couldn't see Kiku again, not after what happened, not after months of ignoring his calls and texts and letting him and every happy moment they spent together fade into the horrible blur that was his senior year of high school.

“Oh, yeah,” his mother said, hesitantly, “They moved in down the street from across town, so we thought it would be nice to invite them. Didn't you and their son get along?”

The way she said _get along_ was so careful that Alfred knew exactly what she meant.

“We _got along_ for a good few years, yeah,” Alfred said. “I can't believe you invited him. I haven’t seen him in years, last time I saw him I was still, he knew, we-” Alfred didn’t know how to end that thought. He remembered almost crying in the June heat as fireflies twinkled like starlight above them, shame churning his gut and churning away all their happy memories.

The two had started dating summer after freshman year of high school, after both of them attended a local baseball camp, before Alfred decided football was his future instead. It was easy for Alfred to realize what he was and what exactly his feelings toward Kiku were, though the fact had terrified him at the time, and Kiku's google search was full of _is it gay to want to kiss men only sometimes though_ , and after the final closing ceremonies of the camp they had kissed in the dugout, sealing themselves to two and a half years of secrecy.

They'd tried to stay together after the horror that came with Alfred being forcibly outed to his school, but when he ran off to the east coast for college, a prep program that started at the beginning of the summer, he'd shut down everything that connected him with his home town, Kiku included.

Tension crackled in the room. Matthew quickly stepped up, placing a reassuring hand on Alfred's shoulder. “Do, uh, we know for sure if he's coming? He might not even be coming.”

Their mother's voice was quiet, almost pleading. “Do you want me to uninvite him?”

Alfred's frenzied thoughts skidded to a halt, like someone had slammed the breaks and he was feeling the bruising jerk of the seatbelt pulling him back. He hadn't seen Kiku in so long – what was he doing, now? Did he have a boyfriend? A girlfriend?

Did he ever think of Alfred? In truth, Alfred kind of _did_ want to see him again, just to know -

Alfred took a deep, calming breath and shook his head. “No, no. I'm sorry I – I was just surprised. I know it'll be trouble for you if you tell him and his family that he can't come. Sorry.”

Silence descended.

Alfred had no idea what to do next – his mind was still recovering from the shock of knowing his ex-boyfriend was going to be at his parents' Thanksgiving dinner. His head was throbbing faintly, something it did when he was stressed. Big work presentations, finals week at his college, and visiting his family were apparently similarly anxiety-inducing.

“I, uh, think I should take a break. I have some work to do, some, uh, drawings to fix...” He trailed off, waving his hands erratically, and knocked into a stack of papers on a coffee table in his attempts to not-run upstairs, sending them floating across the room as his family stared at him.

 _Nice_ , Alfred thought, _I've been here for a few hours and I've already had one freak out._ He groaned, loudly, and flopped onto his bed. Why couldn't he be cool? He'd spent years in both group and individual therapy sessions trying to regain some semblance of normalcy in his life, and just being back in his old house was setting him on edge.

 _Kiku,_ though. Alfred had been head over heels – they bonded over baseball and games, anime and super heroes, being the only two gay kids in town that they knew of. Alfred would talk and Kiku would know exactly how he was about to finish his sentence. They were so different and yet fit together so well. Alfred remembered loving Kiku's arms – they were thin but strong from years of baseball, and the deep olive veins of his arms would twitch as he held Alfred, as they -

Well. Alfred blushed, thinking about it.

Matthew knocked at the door and Alfred nearly jumped out of his skin, beginning to get lost as his thoughts floated to one of their youthful trysts in the woods behind the school.

“Hey,” Matthew said, tensed up and nervous, “I wanted to check up on you. I.” He paused, fumbling with what he wanted to say. “I know this time of year is hard for you, after-”

Alfred didn't know how to respond. Matthew was right, his skin had been crawling ever since he'd landed, like it always did around this time of the year. “Yeah. I, uh,” Alfred also fumbled, feeling the familiar shame and frustration at the pitying glances people who knew gave him. He'd only ever told one other person, his ex from college, and he had needed to be good and drunk before he could even begin to pry open the closed-off part of him that held his trauma. He was _stronger_ than this, dammit. “I mean, it’s not that – like, what if Mom and Dad invited one of your exes to Thanksgiving without telling you? What do I even say? Hey, remember how I totally ignored you one I went off to college? That was super sexy, right?”

Matthew snorted.

 _Nailed it_ , Alfred thought. _He doesn’t suspect a thing_.

Matthew sat down next to Alfred on the bed and pulled him into a hug, hand threading through Alfred’s hair on the back of his head.

Alfred was just about to ask Matthew if hug therapy was a weird hippie Canada thing, but there was a lump in his throat, and anyway, Matthew pulled away before he could.

“Mom and Dad are gonna finish up downstairs themselves. Want to set up the ol’ gaming system to get your mind off of this? We'll see if you lose like you did _every time_ we played back in high school.”

Alfred laughed, glad for the change of subject, and tried to push all of his anxieties to the back of his mind. “You wish, bro.”

* * *

Alfred woke the next morning to sunlight streaming, warm and golden, through familiarly faded curtains. He knew where he was and why – in the house where he grew up, twenty three years old, visiting his parents for Thanksgiving. He and Matthew had played Super Mario for hours and Alfred had won at least twenty-five percent of the time (a fantastic improvement).

Nothing hurt. He wasn’t flashing back.

Already his trip back had surpassed his expectations.

Of course, though, his bad luck was bound to catch up with him – Alfred’s parents were frantic with preparation as he sat down to a homemade breakfast of pancakes from scratch, thick slab bacon from the local butcher, coffee and orange juice. Matthew munched on his own syrupy stack, shoulders hunched in an attempt to make his six foot, broad-shouldered frame smaller, another nervous habit Alfred recognized.

His mother was panicking in that shrill way she did when things were going _very wrong_ , and his father’s attempts to console her were _very clearly_ not working. “Ohhhhhh, I can’t believe we’re out of thyme,” she was wailing.

“Time for what?” Alfred mumbled, mouth full of pancake.

“No!” she snapped, “Thyme, _t-h-y-m-e_. I can’t make our stuffing without it, god _damn_ it I forgot we had to get rid of the old pack. But I need to put the turkey in, and let the vegetables marinate, and mix up icing for the cake-”

Alfred gulped down black coffee, stifling a yawn. “Hey, hey – Matt and I can run to the store and pick some up,” He gave Matt a pointed _let’s get out of the house immediately_ look. “It’s still there, right? We’ll be back in a jiffy, don’t worry about it.”

“ _No!_ ” his mother and his father shouted at the same time.

Alfred almost dropped his coffee mug in shock, fear spiking in his chest. Matthew’s head shot up. His hands shook as he gaped at his parents – but they didn’t look mad. They looked… Panicked?

His mother’s face quickly reconfigured into something warm, apologetic. “W-what we mean is, uh – you’re looking so thin, I want you here to help with the cooking. You’re not feeding yourself, clearly, and we’re so worried.”

Alfred didn’t believe any of that, but he didn’t know what the problem was – they weren’t punishing him, and fear was written clearly across their faces. He shrugged, hesitantly, and bit down on another slice of bacon. Whatever, as long as this didn't involve anything horrible, he would go with the flow and not ask questions.

“I’ll go,” his father suggested.

“Oh, no,” his mother snapped, “The last time I sent you to the store for spices you brought back a head of lettuce.”

Matt sighed, “I’ll go with him. I actually know how to cook.”

Their parents exchanged glances, but clearly neither of them could think of a good reason as to why Matthew shouldn’t go.

“Sure, son,” his father said, the nervous warble of his tone betraying him completely. Alfred had never been good at reading people – he’d suffered through many hurt silences from both his brother and his various boyfriends, escalated because he hadn’t even realized they were upset – but this surge of emotion from his family was so strange it would’ve been impossible to notice.

He sighed and tried hard to let it go. There was only so much strangeness he could put up with during this time of year, in this place.

His father and brother headed out, and Alfred cleaned up his dirty plates and mugs, giving his mother an uneasy smile.

She took the dishes from him. “I’ll take care of the cleanup – why don’t you get started on taking out the ingredients for the marinade?” Her smile was mollifying, careful but genuine, as she pointed to a recipe card on the counter.

He nodded slowly, pulling out salt and pepper and paprika and balsamic vinegar, bottles clinking in his grasp, that and the running water of his mother washing dishes filling the awkward silence.

“I-” he began, as his mother choked out, “So-”

They stopped, eyeing the other nervously. Finally, his mother cleared her throat. “So, uh, tell me about your work. Your dad and I were so proud when you told us that you got a job with NASA – right out of college, too.”

Alfred broke out in a grin. “What can I say? I’m just that awesome.”

His mother laughed, softly. “Of all the things you could’ve inherited from your father, you got his humility.” She was smiling, and Alfred was smiling, and things seemed alright, for the moment.

Soon the smell of cooked bacon faded, and that of roasting, juicy turkey filled the air. The eggplant and squash and peppers sat in a mixture of vinegar and spices, ready to be placed in the oven, and fresh green salad slowly came together with their combined chopping and mixing.

After an hour passed, both Alfred and his mother exchanged worried glances, Alfred’s fingers covered in a mixture of bread and cranberries, the stuffing awaiting its spices.

Just as he was about to offer to give his brother a call, the sound of squealing tires alerted him to his brother and father’s return. He breathed in, out, waiting for the familiar ring of the chimes on the doorknob – an easy way to alert whoever was home that someone was returning, as well as an old attempt to prevent him and his brother from sneaking out, not that it had worked.

Instead of the chimes, he heard voices outside – what sounded like shouting. He washed his hands and went to go check it out, ignoring a panicked sound from his mother as he opened the door.

“You punched him! In front of everyone, in the middle of the store-”

“He has a respectable _fucking job_ – why do you care it was in front of everyone? Fucking _good_ , maybe people will ask why and we can tell them and then he’ll fucking die. He deserves it after what he did to my brother. _When did he even get out?_ ” Matthew’s face was flushed with fury, his father’s hands were up in a rare moment of fear and panic as Matthew screamed at him.

“We asked the manager for his policy about hiring criminals, but there’s nothing we can do –”

“’There’s nothing we can do,’” Matthew mimicked, cruel and angry, “That’s what you said all those years ago, and then you _weren’t there_ , and you’re still _useless_ about something that should be clear to anyone with _basic human decency._ Did you ever consider that you could _stop shopping there?_ That you could stop buying shit from a store that employs a _convicted fucking rapist-”_

Alfred froze, half way out the door. Matthew’s face, blood red in his cheeks from screaming, drained to the color of the painted pale exterior of the house as they locked eyes. His mouth opened, closed, and he took a step back. “Never mind,” he snapped in his father’s direction, and held up the little packet of fresh thyme like it was an ugly, diseased thing. “We got the thyme.”

Something was pulling at Alfred. It was like he was in the ocean, the rippling waves shutting out other noises, the back and forth of the current tossing him this way and that. Matthew had said enough – his anger and his words and the way he froze when it was clear Alfred had heard him made it clear exactly who had made him so angry, and why.

Or, there were eight possible people it could’ve been. At least, Alfred thought it had been eight, they all kind of blended together in a mass of _angry, feral dog growling and biting and laughing, clawing at his skin, blood dripping down his face and back and legs –_

It was cold. His breath ghosted in the cold air, and he took in the yard and Matthew’s terror and _he was in the woods_ he was in front of his house _his fingers were on fire_ his fingers were fine, he was just typing up an email to his boss a few hours ago and the damage could easily be mistaken for callouses _his pants lay in a pile to his side, he could almost reach them if he reached out, he could cover himself-_

He took a deep, rattling breath. Matthew was a few feet away, hand reaching out like Alfred would be hot to the touch if he got any closer. His hand was real, the cold wrought-iron railing that lead down the steps of his house was real in his grasp, his foot was in a crevice of the brick steps and he pressed down into it, memorizing the texture.

Finally, the roaring in his ears died down and the laughter went with it, the phantom memory of pain shooting up his spine replaced by the stress-throbbing of his temples. He took one last deep breath and let the ocean-pull of his memories draw the tension from his shoulders.

He’d learned to cope alone. Even if the current was stronger here, threatening to pull him under if he began to slip, after six years of therapy he had the strength to survive being in the town where he was raped.

“I’m gonna grab an asprin,” Alfred said through his throbbing headache, since no one else seemed to be able to speak, and retreated back inside.

He did not run, instead taking the steps slowly _he limped up the steps, clutching his aching ribs and trying to ignore the ugly, squelching bloodstains on his pants as he walked_ and reaching with trembling hands into the familiar bathroom medicine cabinet with the familiar collection of pills and Band-Aids. The first Motrin he popped out of the packet slipped out of his grasp and onto the floor.

The packet rattled in his hands. He was calm. The steps creaked as someone came upstairs and he looked up helplessly as Matthew came into view. His brother took the packet of pills from Alfred and popped out two, placing them in Alfred’s open palm. Alfred closed his eyes, remembering how Matthew had hid the house’s painkillers after everything had happened, carefully rationing the supply so Alfred never had access to more than he needed at one time. Never had access to enough to kill himself.

This had been a terrible idea.

“How do you feel about going for a drive?” Matthew murmured, guilt written in the way he held himself and the tone of his voice, “I think it’d be nice to get out of the house.”

Alfred wasn’t sure whether that would be _better_ – he clearly had a lower chance of running into someone he hated in the house, but he also didn’t want to think about his parents shopping at the local supermarket, seeing one of his rapist’s faces every time they went but not doing anything. Sure, it was a smaller town, and there weren’t many other options, but it still hurt, especially since.

Since it was around this time that it happened. Since his parents had been ignoring his repeated reports of the violence and bullying were escalating, since they stood back and shook their heads sadly as his teammates became his enemies and he was forced off the team, saying _well, they're probably just uncomfortable, the locker room is supposed to be a safe place post-game_. Since he had been a bully and then a victim of bullying and worse and the person he'd treated with the most contempt helped carry him home because he couldn't walk properly and because Arthur Fucking Kirkland, despite hating him, was one of the few people at school who did not hate him specifically for being gay. He hadn't even known if his parents would help him when he got home.

“Hey Dad, we’re taking the car,” Matthew called as the two of them headed out. It wasn’t a question. “No, we’re not going to do anything crazy. We’re not on the football team, after all.”

“Guests will start coming at three,” their mother called out, like an atom bomb hadn't just dropped on top of him.

Alfred felt sick. How was he supposed to be pleasant and sociable during hours of Thanksgiving dinner knowing that one of the people who ruined his life was mere miles away?

* * *

 

Matthew sat himself on the driver’s side of the family car they’d fought over so much once they’d both gotten their licenses. That had gotten better halfway through senior year, once Alfred didn’t have friends to go out with.

There were fields and fields of flat land just a bit outside the town, roads that hardly anyone drove on because they lead to places no one cared about. Alfred had taken Kiku there a few times, to be alone away from the prying eyes of his classmates and neighbors, and he was sure Matthew had brought more than one girlfriend into the fields during high school.

Matthew didn’t stop the car, which Alfred didn’t mind, because parking by the side of the road had connotations he thought would ruin any kind of talk he and Matthew might have.

Alfred spoke first. “Is that why you took so long to get back?”

Matthew winced. “Yeah. I saw him, he was restocking some produce and I – it was like something had taken over, I was so angry. I knew exactly who he was. I remembered him from the trial. They called security and Dad spent a good while trying to convince them not to press charges. I guess I’m lucky that the store thought a criminal might not draw in much sympathy if they actually did.”

Alfred nodded. His voice was very small as he asked, “Who was it?”

Matthew started, and he bit his lip, like he was pondering whether or not to answer. “I don’t remember his name,” he said finally, slowly, “I honestly don’t. I knew it at one point but now they all blend together.”

“I can’t remember what happened,” Alfred murmured, staring out the window at the crisp, cold, sunlit fields. “Well, no, I remember, but – general things. I remember them hurting my hands, so I’d never play football again. I remember that there was a pipe, but there was also _them_ , and it was hot or cold or both – mostly I just remember how much it _hurt_. I didn’t think it was possible to be in that much pain. But if you asked me to tell a jury, or a court, exactly what happened and who did what and how long it went for, I’d be stuck.” He thought for a long time, wondering if he wanted his mind to lap at the edges of these memories, and decided the answer was no. “I think I’m okay with that. And I don’t like how being here reminds me that this _was_ something specific that happened to me, and that I spent years trying to get better after it happened.”

Matthew didn’t say anything, but Alfred saw something in him tighten in anger.

Alfred continued on, “What happened isn’t _everything_ , but here it feels like it is. It’s been less than twenty four hours and I'm constantly on edge. Coming back here was a bad idea.”

“I can take you to the airport,” Matthew said, “We can go get your stuff, and you can get out of here.”

Alfred blinked. He could leave and never come back. There was nothing tying him to this place, nothing except – “Kiku,” he found himself whispering. He wanted to see him. He didn’t want to see him. He didn’t even know where Kiku _lived_ now.

Matthew pursed his lips. “You can re-connect with him yourself, you know, and not here.”

Alfred was annoyed for a second. Of course he knew that. Or, hypothetically he did, but he never had thought to search him out himself. “Okay, _mom_ ,” he mumbled, petulant, because he couldn't think of anything to say.

Matthew froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “Oh my god, Al, what the hell?” He coughed, trying to keep his eyes on the road while hunched over in fits of laughter. “I thought I’d finally convinced you to stop calling me that. Talk about mood whiplash.”

Alfred felt himself untighten a little bit. “Yeah, and I thought you’d finally stopped trying to convince me not to go to class when I was sick – or give me any life advice.”

“Yeah, and how great was my advice when you actually took it, hm?”

“That’s – that’s not important, what’s important is –” Alfred broke off, scowling, then became suddenly pensive. “I know it's stupid to assume that I can come back and get some kind of closure by seeing Kiku, but I don't want to miss out on an opportunity to feel _okay_ again.”

Matthew calmed himself down, following Alfred's more somber mood. “Al, I don't know-”

Alfred smiled at him, a pang of nervousness in his chest. “I want to see him,” Alfred said, looking out at golden fields of corn and wheat. “I want – if he doesn’t show up, I’ll leave today. But I don’t want him to come to dinner, expecting to see me, only to find out that I’ve run away from him again.” _If he even expects to see me. If I’m even a concept to him, still._

Matthew frowned, close to convinced.

“It’ll be fine,” Alfred said, flashing him a thumbs up.

Matthew sighed. “Alright. You’re an adult, I guess. The offer still stands – you want to leave, just say the word and I'll get you out of here. Who knows, maybe I'll even get out of here, too.”

It was just after one, according to the dashboard of the old, beat up Ford. Matthew finally stopped, pulling over at the edge of where a field turned to deep, dense woods and the road narrowed and cracked. “Dad left some empty beer bottles in the trunk of the car,” he suggested, “Feel like smashing things to de-stress before the big dinner?”

When he was younger, he and the guys would sneak into the woods and get drunk off cheap beer, then throw the bottles at trees and see who could hit the most from the furthest away. The memories still tugged at him, the laughter and pat of hands on his back as the glass bottles smashed, the camaraderie of his teammates before they knew.

Alfred grinned, though, because this was the present and his brother was here and would drive him to get away the minute Alfred asked him to. “Sounds good to me. How about a little competition?”

* * *

 

Two thirty in the afternoon rolled around, and Alfred and Matthew rolled up into the driveway, exhausted and grinning and nervous. Their parents were hard at work, their father carving up the turkey, their mother putting a pan of marinated vegetables into the oven.

The house was warm and cozy, mid-afternoon light glinting off polished counter tops and cutlery. As if nothing had happened, they were put to work, setting tables and putting out place settings and putting together a playlist for the occasion. The clock struck three, booming through impeccably clean halls with shining, freshly polished floors.

Alfred was calm again, and though he hadn’t missed being home, he had missed the gluttonous excess that was Thanksgiving at his house. Two full turkeys for twenty guests, candied yams and roasted vegetables, green salad and green bean casserole, dessert of pumpkin pie and pecan pie and chocolate pumpkin cake.

His mouth watered and his stomach growled at the thought of all the food. He hadn’t quite mastered the art of cooking, so dinner often consisted of pasta and grilled cheese and canned soup. This was going to be a _feast_.

The doorbell rang at exactly five past. His family always came to events ranging from on time to fashionably late – and they never helped out before hand, something about _rugged individualism_ and _self-sufficiency_. Alfred suffered through a few awkward hugs from relatives he hadn’t seen in ages, wondered when the Bielschmidt’s would arrive, and stupidly pigeonholed himself into the position of “house greeter.”

He had just given his cranky, elderly grandma a hug, when the doorbell rang again. He got this, he was relaxed and sociable and friendly – _ha ha, we’ll see about grandkids, grandma_ – he pulled open the door with a winning grin plastered on his face -

And found himself staring directly at Kiku Honda.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Clearly whatever calming techniques Kiku had used to prepare himself for this were not enough. Kiku's poker face was an ancient, untranslatable text that Alfred had only begun to crack after they had been dating for a year and a half – so the fact that his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped, and the piece of gum he was chewing fell clean out and onto the welcome mat was testament to _how much_ neither of them were ready to see each other again. 

Alfred choked on air instead of saying his usual _welcome, come on in_ , wondering if Kiku's mouth would taste like the gum on the mat. Would it be cold, minty, or hot and sharp like cinnamon?  

Something that sounded like the jerking cough in the back of someone's throat before they threw up came out of Alfred's mouth. Kiku was still staring, slack jawed. Just as Alfred felt himself about to fall onto his knees and curl up in fetal position on the floor, Matthew, his savior, rushed to the rescue. 

“Hey!” he called out, resting his arm around Alfred's shoulders. “I'm glad you all could make it! Come on in, we have come canapés set out in the kitchen.”  

_'You all'?_   Alfred winced. He hadn't even noticed Kiku's parents standing behind him,  more than a little nervous at Alfred's strange reaction. Alfred had the sudden realization that they had never known – his parents had found out through the gossip grapevine, but Kiku went to a different school. As far as the Hondas knew, Alfred was just a friend who had had a falling out with their son at some point before college. _Shit_ , Alfred wailed internally, _Aw,_ _fuck,_ _I'm so_ _gonna_ _fuck this up._   

Kiku looked _good._ He was wearing a simple black suit, crisp and polished, with an equally crisp and polished white button down. It was very formal, and very form-fitting. Alfred could see the outline of his legs in his suit – Alfred used his powers of deduction to realize that it was an older suit and that Kiku had built up muscle since he'd bought it, judging by the slight strain around his shoulders and his ass. 

Alfred was totally staring at his ass. Oh, _fuck_. He wished for a second that a nuclear warhead was headed directly towards their small Chicago suburb. He took a deep breath in a way he assumed was subtle, but judging by the look Matthew shot him, was probably not subtle at all, and tried to will himself to calm down.  

“Hey, haha,” he said, leaning casually against a coat rack in the hallway and accidentally pushing it over onto the floor. It crashed to the floor, loud enough that people from the kitchen peered in to see what the noise was. His entire being was screaming as he flushed bright red in embarrassment and picked up the rack and the coats. “Can I uh.  Take your jackets?” 

Kiku was moving like he was sore after a full day's worth of hard, full-body working exercise. Like he'd just run a marathon and then gotten food poisoning afterwards. He removed his jacket – Alfred realized the shirt he was wearing was fairly tight, too, and a fantastically chic shade of pale blue, fuck _fuck_ – and handed it over with steady, stiff hands.  

“Thanks,” he said, sounding slightly strangled. 

Alfred didn't say anything, words trapped and dying in his throat. He made another sound like he was going to throw up and took the coat. 

They could have been back in high school. Kiku was wearing a suit and Alfred was in dress-casual slacks and a button down. He could've been taking Alfred out for a date night on their anniversary, disguised as an awards dinner or gala Kiku was allowed to bring a totally-platonic no-homo friend to.  

But he wasn't here for a date, and they hadn't spoken in years, and somehow it felt too late to do anything about it.  

Years’ worth of words scrambled to the tip of his tongue, tripping over each other in a battle to see what might come out first. Should he start with _I’m sorry_ or _how have you been_ or maybe, maybe if he was feeling particularly brave or particularly stupid, _I loved you once, before they took you away from me_?  

As something that might have been actual vomit came oozing to the front of his mouth, he overheard his mother calling him in from the kitchen.  

“Alfred, honey, can I get your help with these big heavy plates?”  

Alfred didn’t feel a sense of relief that he was being pulled away from confronting Kiku and maybe, possibly salvaging their friendship if not their relationship, but he smiled the ghost of an awkward, apologetic smile and slipped through the crowded halls. Was that disappointment on Kiku’s face, a slight slump in his shoulders as he turned delicately to watch Alfred slide away from him, or was he projecting?  

After that, Alfred caught glimpses of Kiku’s limber form as he helped set up tables and played busboy to his parents’ frantic last-minute décor ideas. Kiku was chatting with Matthew, looking relaxed, though his eyes kept flitting back and forth from one blonde Jones relative to another – was he looking for him? Should Alfred stop, go to him and try again to make conversation? Nothing would happen if nothing was said, there was too much buried underneath the surface of the holiday festivities, bubbling like the soup stock on the stove though both of them as they managed to avoid each other.  

A loud, booming laugh caught Alfred’s attention, and he immediately recognized Gilbert Bielschmidt from the sharp click of impeccably kept dress shoes and the clinking of beer. Behind him bobbed the blonde head of his brother, Ludwig, looking as nervous as ever around the large crowds of people. They usually arrived just before food was served and stayed until the last of their cases of beer were left empty and scattered on tables. Kiku waved at him and stepped over to chat.  

Ludwig locked eyes with Alfred, and something about his expression made him feel uncomfortable, on edge. There was something like nervousness there, apprehension – Alfred prickled a little, even as he busied himself with tasks in preparation for dinner.  

At four o clock on the dot, Alfred’s mother made an announcement that all guests were to be seated, so the first course could begin. It was a turkey soup, made with homemade stock and dumplings and roasted giblets, familiar and warming. 

Kiku was seated diagonally to Alfred’s left, close enough that Alfred could see the softness of his lashes, the color of the veins on his wrists, but just far enough away that conversation would be difficult at best. Alfred didn’t want to shout over his aunts all the things he was feeling.  

Once during dinner, Kiku caught his eye, something deep and pained in his expression. His stomach squirmed at that, and Alfred found that his appetite for the next course wasn’t as large as he was expecting.  

Alfred got up a bit through the main course, a half-eaten drumstick and baked yams lying sadly on his plate. Matthew shot him a questioning look, and he half-smiled. “Just need some air, nothing big. Be back in a sec.”  

He wandered into the kitchen, empty now that everyone was eating in the dining room, cluttered with pots and pans and open containers of mustard and oil. A brown-crusted roasting pan lay in the sink, soapy and wet, and an extra plate of roasted turkey sat on a counter, waiting to be taken in once the dark meat was all gone.  

“Alfred?” 

Alfred wheeled around and found himself staring at a nervous, shifting Ludwig Bielschmidt.  

“Hey,” he said, cocking his head in confusion, “What’s up? The bathroom’s down the hall, if you’re looking for that –” 

“No,” Ludwig said, direct as ever. “No. I uh. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.” 

Alfred nodded, not entirely sure where this conversation was going to go. “Yeah. I’ve been out at school, and I just got a job in California – it’s pretty far.”  

“Yeah,” Ludwig nodded. “It makes sense, that you wouldn’t be back. You know, I ran into Feliciano a little while ago. It’d been a while since he’d been back, too.”  

Alfred froze. What happened to Feliciano was probably the second worst gay bashing he’d ever seen or experienced, including his own. He remembered the ambulances zooming into the cramped school parking lot, the crowds of students, the jeering – Alfred was fourteen, Feliciano was sixteen and had just started the school’s first gay-straight alliance, and Alfred realized as they wheeled Feliciano's bloody body away that as long as he lived where he did, no one could ever know about him. It shocked him into silence – secret keeping was never his strong point, but something deep and primal inside him knew that if anyone knew, his fate would be the same, if not worse. 

And then they found out. And then it was.  

“Why are you telling me this?” Alfred questioned, a little bit defensively. It’s not like he expected Ludwig to do anything to him at his parents’ thanksgiving dinner, but he’d adopted a sort of “homophobe until proven innocent” attitude that he kept up like a wall when anyone tried to talk to him about anything gay.  

Ludwig sighed, looking sadly at something Alfred couldn’t place. “I was friends with him, you know? He went off to Italy for college, then I didn’t see him again, except when he came back to visit a year or so ago.”  

Alfred frowned, nervousness prickling at his arms. He half hoped to hear his mother calling for help with the dishes or the cleanup, but the rich laughter coming from the other room made that seem unlikely.   

Ludwig looked at him. “He didn’t seem happy about being here. You don’t either. If I could leave, I would, but I need to take care of the auto shop, especially since Gil got sick.”  

“I’m sorry,” Alfred offered, at a loss for words.  

Ludwig nodded, then retreated back into the dining room, leaving Alfred bemused and a little bit worried. Was that a threat? A plea to leave and not come back? Was he trying to tell Alfred that something was about to happen, and Alfred needed to be prepared? 

Maybe Kiku would know something, since they had been talking earlier.  

He wound his way into the dining room, eyes peeled for the shock of black hair that stood out among his blonde family, but found that Kiku was nowhere to be seen. Alfred frowned and made his way over to the head of the table, leaning next to his mother and father and asking, “Hey, have you seen Kiku around?” 

His father scratched his shining bald head, frowning, and his mother piped up. “Oh! He had to head out early, said he had a big report due for when he got back to school.”  

“What?” Alfred said, shocked. He couldn’t help himself – it felt like the floor had dropped out from under him, and with it floated off any chance of seeing Kiku again.  

"Yeah, he was only here for a bit, which is such a shame..." 

Alfred wasn't listening. He nodded as the words around him faded back to a blur, and backed slowly out of the room. Then, he did something rash – Kiku lived right down the street. He'd moved, and Alfred was going to figure out which house was his and make sure he didn't miss the chance to have a real conversation with him for the first time in years.  

In fact, he just asked Matthew, who always seemed to know these things, and raced out the door without putting on a jacket.

* * *

 Kiku's house, or his parents' house, was neat and tidy and unassuming. It didn't look like the looming house or horrors Alfred felt like it was as he walked up the driveway, arms shaking from both cold and anticipation. The ring of the doorbell pounded in his ears along with the thump-thump of his heartbeat, and he waited, wanting to run and hide and- 

The door swung open.  

Kiku started slightly as he saw Alfred standing there, panting from exhaustion and a shortness of breath he couldn't quite explain. His eyes widened, he took a step back, and his hands twitched like he wanted to do something, to shut the door, to grab Alfred.  

"Can I come in?" Alfred forced out, before Kiku could say anything. "Please?" 

Kiku let out a breath that rattled Alfred's bones. He nodded, face unreadable, and as he swung the door open Alfred realized there was an entire house behind him, that he didn't suck up all matter as he stood.  

The inside of Kiku's house smelled so familiar, like looking through a camera roll of long-forgotten memories. It wasn't the same one Alfred had been in so many times, but the rose-painted knife set on the counter, the mat Kiku's mother used to roll sushi, the potted herbs on the windowsill, green and full even in the cold November sunlight. 

_"Wonder what this one is_ _,"_ _Alfred mused_ _, sniffing a bushel of fresh basil._ _Kiku_ _pressed up behind him, hand on Alfred's hip as_ _Alfred stroked a thin green stem with his finger._ _Kiku's_ _mom loved silly rom-coms, and Alfred was sure this was a move he pulled straight from some guilty pleasure flick that starred Meg Ryan or Ryan Gosling, but he shuddered and inhaled the sharp sweetness of the basil as_ _Kiku_ _pressed a kiss to the back of his neck._  

"Alfred?" 

Kiku was staring at him. Alfred realized he'd been staring back, silent.  

"Oh god. I'm sorry, this is so awkward, I just wanted to..." Alfred spluttered, trailing off abruptly, realizing he didn't know what he'd wanted.  

"I didn't think I'd see you again," Kiku murmured, eyes downcast, dark and glittering like iron under his thick lashes. His face was as smooth and soft as Alfred remembered, and though his tone was carefully neutral, Alfred detected the hint of accusation in his words. He winced, slightly.  

"Sorry," Alfred said, because he didn't know what else there was to say. How could he explain how he felt at the end of his senior year, traumatized and terrified and half ready to die? How, when he went off to college, hundreds of miles away, the anything that reminded him of his so-called home made him sick to his stomach, how dreams of kissing Kiku mingled with dreams of his violent assault and left him biting his lips and fingers till they bled in the early hours of the morning, desperate not to show his roommate how _weak_ they'd made him?  

"I messaged you, I texted you, and when you never responded, I genuinely thought you might've killed yourself." 

_He'd failed another exam, his social life was in ruins, his parents wanted him to come home for Thanksgiving, not even a year after what happened. Someone on the TV show playing_ _in the dining commons_ _called someone else a faggot and he decided he could live on instant noodles for the rest of his college career, or the rest of his life, because neither was going to last very much longer._  

Kiku continued on, taking a step forward. "I wondered, if you had, whether I'd ever even know."  

"That's not fair," Alfred whispered, voice cracking. Tears beaded at the corners of his eyes, and he sucked in a breath through a thickly coated throat. "That's not fair. I didn't..." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but finding that he'd never prepared for a reunion with the person who could hurt him the most. "I was a mess. I was so afraid of everything, everyone – I barely went to class, almost failed my first semester because I couldn't get up the energy to get out of bed, because I knew if I stayed inside no one could hurt me."  

Kiku looked pained, realizing the gravity of what he'd said. He took another step forward, reaching out like he didn't know what Alfred would feel like if he touched him. "I – Alfred, I'm sorry. I," he bridged the gap between them, placing his hand on Alfred's cheek. The tears beading at Alfred's eyes spilled over, sliding in a slick line over Kiku's soft fingers. "I felt like after everything we'd been though, they'd still forced us apart, and I didn't know how I could fix you. Fix us." 

He trailed off, then, guilt clear in the way he pulled his eyes from Alfred's, the way his body bent forward, ashamed.  

Alfred took a breath, then closed his eyes and placed his hand over Kiku's. It was rougher than it once was, covered in scar tissue, a perminant reminder burned onto his body like a brand. "I was in pieces. They were jagged and ugly, and they sliced at the hands of those that I loved when they tried to put me back together – but despite the blood they were still whole, and I was shattered glass." The atmosphere was so heavy, Alfred could taste it on the tip of his tongue. It was bitter, and ugly, and he didn't want his first meeting with Kiku in years to feel like this – so he decided he was going to ignore the mood completely and crack a joke. "I wrote a slam poem in college, once. Never showed it to anyone, mostly because I got the metaphor from a friend who worked at Home Depot and had cut up his hand on a broken glass jar. Also, it's a little cheesy."  

Kiku stared at him, trying to compose his expression into something less incredulous. Alfred had _not_ been a poet back when they were dating – his idea of a romantic evening was watching an action movie with a romantic sub plot and eating pizza. His philosophical musings about life mostly included phrases like "awesome" and "fucking lame, bro."  

If Alfred was being honest, he still wasn't a poet, and "awesome" was still a preferred descriptor – but there were times when his emotions roiled so much that he needed to let them spill out of him or they'd explode like fireworks in his body.  

Alfred rambled on, tears drying on his cheeks as Kiku stared up at him. "Got a lotta inspiration from Walt Whitman, the original slam poet – also gay as hell, just like like m-mmf!"  

Kiku kissed him. Alfred's body lit on fire, a warm, glowing flame of blood beating through his veins. It wasn't the too-hot fire of fear, it was a warm jacket on a cold day, a blanket and hot chocolate and soft boyfriend wrapped around him.  

The comments Kiku made still stung, and the kiss licked at these wounds harshly, but Alfred couldn't bring himself to break them apart. Kiku's tongue licked at the part of his lips, slipped inside tentatively, and Alfred wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. They could talk later, for now -  

Kiku's hands slid down his back, tentative, grasping at the creases in his shirt. His mouth was soft and his tongue was wet and Alfred gasped at the sensations, Kiku's hesitation painfully reminiscent of when they were younger and unsure of what to do. 

Alfred pulled back, panting, a dribble of saliva dripping from his red lips. God _damn_ , when had Kiku become such a good kisser? He must've had a lot of practice in the years since they'd seen each other – wait.  

"Wait, Kiku," Alfred said, hesitantly, "Do you uh, have a boyfriend?" 

Kiku's face did the thing again – where he showed a flash of vivid, angry incredulity, before he composed himself and sent Alfred the most controlled, irritated face he could. "Alfred," he explained, enunciating each word like they were verbal projectiles "No, I do not."  

"Oh," Alfred said, slumping backwards, a strange relief pricking at him, "Cool! Cool. Same here.  I don't have one, that is." 

Kiku sighed, pulling back more. "I'm going to make a cup of tea. Do you want anything?" 

Alfred had lost much of his ability to read (and then ignore) Kiku's quirks, but he picked up on that one immediately as his indirect way of telling Alfred to sit _down_ , they needed to talk.  

"I'm good," he said, pulling up a chair and slumping into it. His emotions were a whirlwind – seeing Kiku, reeling from Kiku's harsh words, kissing Kiku – he wasn't sure if he was more angry or happy or scared. He hadn't expected things to pick up right from the last text conversation they'd had, and he knew there would be uncomfortable things to talk about, but mostly he hadn't expected to still feel so infatuated with Kiku.  

That was a problem too, because he wasn't sure if that was a genuine attraction or some desperate part of him wanting to go back to how things were before. Was Kiku a potential part of his present, or the remnants of a happier past? 

Both were silent as Kiku boiled water, steam curling from the spout and from the cup he poured it into. His hands wrapped around the cup, and Alfred wanted to wrap his own hands around Kiku's, feel the warmth radiating from the hot ceramic.  

Kiku took a sip, opened his mouth, closed it again. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry I said what I did." 

Such a direct apology was rare, from Kiku. Alfred nodded, biting at his lip. "I'm sorry I stopped talking to you with no warning. That uh. It must've been scary." 

Kiku nodded, slightly. "It was, but I don't blame you. I can't...." He took a deep breath, staring down into his tea. "I just wished it could've been different." 

Alfred nodded. That was maybe the most direct thing Kiku had said to him, and from the way his eyes were locked on the curls of steam from his tea and the way his shoulders trembled, it must've been a tremendous effort. "Me too. I'm... I'm better now. Not like, _better_ better, but better than before. I guess that's not saying much, though." 

Kiku's hands twitched, reached out to Alfred before pulling away. Alfred's throat was dry, his body flushed and hot, his voice breathy as he said, "You... You can touch me, if you want. It's okay." 

_Okay_ meant both _I won't flinch_ away and _please, please do._ There was a pulse of tangible silence, and Kiku's eyes flitted to his own then away, quickly. His face flushed, just a little, and he reached out with a trembling hand to caress Alfred's cheek, his jawline. Alfred blinked his eyes slowly – Kiku's hands were warm from holding the cup, his fingers smooth and gentle.  

"What, ah, what have you been up to for the past six years?" Alfred said, trying to be nonchalant as Kiku's hands stroked his face.  

"I am currently attending medical school. I excelled at my undergraduate institution, and when I got the offer to attend medical school at the University of San Francisco, I took it." 

_"What_?" Alfred spluttered, jerking back in shock. "You attend UCSF? Fucking... Oh my god, Kiku."  

Kiku's hands were frozen in midair, his body rigid with shock. "Yes?" He questioned, nervous. 

Alfred shook his head, something unpleasant that he couldn't quite place bubbling up in his gut. "I... After I graduated, I got a job working at NASA Ames – that's, I mean, that's not even an hour away." Every calming exercise he'd learned to keep his emotions in check seemed to be failing in the presence of Kiku. Tears beaded at the corners of his eyes, again, and he couldn't even explain what was causing them other than an unending, eternal _frustration_ of how so many of his decisions and missed opportunities stemmed from the trauma of being raped. "You've been so close to me this entire time and I didn't even think to – I could've Facebook stalked you or _something._ "  

"I don't have a Facebook, so wouldn't have found me anyway," Kiku said, reaching back up to cup Alfred's cheek. Alfred rested his own palm over Kiku's hand, running over it with his calloused thumb. "And I didn't either. Things have been complicated, I'm sure." 

Alfred took his hand off Kiku's, picking at a piece of skin on his thumb. Kiku moved his hand from Alfred's cheek to his jaw, his neck – Alfred giggled, ticklish as ever, and Kiku dropped his hand to his collarbone, thumb stroking along his exposed skin. Alfred shuddered and swallowed, adam's apple just brushing Kiku's bent knuckle.  

"Are you thinking of being a surgeon?" Alfred asked, shy like they'd never done this before. "A GP?" 

"Gynecologist," Kiku said, straight-faced, staring at Alfred's jaw. 

Alfred waited for Kiku to crack a smile, or laugh, but he continued to stare intently at Alfred, fingers moving along Alfred's collar and shoulders almost reverently. "Wait, seriously?" 

Kiku nodded, "As an undergrad I became very interested in the way certain nations treat pregnancies, in comparison to the United States. In my practice I want to combine the best of the United States' innovations with those abroad to optimize the health of both mother and child." 

"Very heroic," Alfred said, still a little dumbstruck.  

Kiku looked up, locking eyes with him. "And you? Do you still want to be an astronaut?"  

Alfred grinned, "That'd be nice – though for now I'm happy to just do aerospace engineering. Apparently being an astronaut involves about a fuck ton of tests, and there's a reason I didn't do grad school. Plus, you know, when the aliens make first contact it's gonna be the engineers who learn all their cool new tech. Or build the tech to stop them from invading." 

Kiku nodded, pensive, barely listening. His hands were still caressing the skin on his collarbone, and Alfred felt suddenly _daring._ He reached up with trembling hands to the starched, stiff collar on his shirt, and unbuttoned the top button. A mixture of nerves and desire made his breath come in soft pants, and Kiku was still for just a moment – then, slowly, hesitantly, he slid his fingers lower, feeling the warm muscle just above Alfred's chest.  

Alfred took that as a good sign, and, only half thinking his actions through, unbuttoned the next button.  

Kiku looked up at him, and for a second Alfred regretted the fact that he'd been so bold, _what must_ _Kiku_ _think of me, putting out for him so soon after we've been separated for so long,_ but then Kiku leaned forward and brushed his lips along Alfred's collarbone, breath hot but mouth barely touching.  

The room dropped away as Alfred arched into Kiku's breath, as Kiku slipped his fingers deeper into Alfred's shirt. A million concerns ranging from _does_ _Kiku_ _know we can go further than this_ to _what if this ruins everything, we've barely scratched the surface of our lives for the past six years._  

Alfred unbuttoned another button, then another, until his chest was fully exposed. Kiku's fingers massaged the upper part, the sides of his pectoral muscles, he kissed Alfred's chest from the middle of his collar to the top of his stomach, sending hot, tingling sparks from his head to his toes. _God_ , he hadn't been kissed like this in so long. His last real relationship had ended about a year and a half ago, and the days where he was brave enough for a quick Grindr hookup were few and far between. He put his hands on Kiku's shoulders, steadying himself. 

The sensations stopped almost immediately. Alfred frowned as the room came back, and the tingling, wet kiss spots turned cold as Kiku pulled back. "Do you want me to stop?" He said, hesitant.  

Ah, right. No, Alfred hadn't wanted Kiku to stop, he'd wanted him to keep going forever and ever, because Kiku's kisses were something he'd liked so much when they were dating – but of course Kiku would be cautious. 

Sex hadn't scared Alfred since he was a sophomore in college – a loving, patient boyfriend had asked his permission and walked him gently, carefully, through everything it was possible for a person to do, until all of it went from terrifying to thrilling. By the end of their relationship, Alfred was even alright with his boyfriend putting toys and dildos inside of him – as long as they were warm and slick beforehand, not like -  

Alfred had re-learned how to be comfortable with sex, how to _love_ sex. But of course, Kiku didn't know that – and now with his shirt half-off and his body shaking and his words scrambling in his brain, he didn't know how to articulate that.  

So he kissed Kiku, pulling him back in, slowly, while he took a moment to think.  

"I'm fine," Alfred finally decided on, "I – I can do this, I'm not afraid of it. And I know if I told you to, you would stop."  

Kiku nodded, and his face darkened, slightly, as he murmured, "How... How far do you want me to go?" 

Alfred was torn between his honest answer, _I want you to fuck me till I see stars_ , and the more reasonable one, _let's talk a little bit more, first, then figure it out_ _._ Finally, he decided that the world could end at any moment, and he wasn't going to leave this shit town without sleeping with his ex boyfriend at least once, just to spite everyone. Being rational had never been a strong point. 

Plus, if he was being completely honest with himself, there was still a small part of himself that was desperate to prove to Kiku that he _could_. That he wasn't broken. That... 

"All the way," Alfred whispered in Kiku's ear, feeling a little bit like a high schooler as he said it. "How about, I mean, we could..." He stopped, realizing he was stuttering, then sighed and shook his head. "Do you want to head upstairs?" 

Kiku nodded, nervous. He took Alfred by the hand, shirt falling off his shoulders, and lead him up a staircase that was somehow both familiar and foreign. He'd lead Alfred up stairs like this so many times, but this felt new. Fresh. Frightening. There were years between them and an entire ocean of uncertainty about how Kiku was feeling – hell, how _he_ was feeling.  

Kiku's room looked just like Alfred remembered it, but this wasn't the same room, so that couldn't have been right.  

Silence pressed against Alfred's ears as Kiku stared up at him, door open, room lit by the fading light of sunset. Both were waiting for the other to do something, to initiate – and Alfred decided it needed to be him if this was going to go smoothly. He pulled his shirt off, leaving it in a crumpled pile on the floor, then slowly reached over to undo the buttons of Kiku's shirt.  

He pulled back, and Kiku pulled his own shirt off, and Alfred felt the hot smoothness of Kiku's skin as he pulled them together, as he kissed him once on the jaw, once, twice on the lips.  

"How do you want to do this?" Alfred breathed. 

"Whatever you want," Kiku obliged.  

Alfred nodded, nuzzling the crook of Kiku's neck. "How about you be on top, sound good?" 

If Kiku was surprised, he didn't show it. Instead, he took Alfred's hand and guided him to the bed, stopping just at the edge – like he didn't know how to continue on. How experienced _was_ Kiku? Alfred wasn't sure, and he pulled off his pants and belt, hesitating with his thumbs at the elastic band of the briefs he was wearing.  

Kiku swallowed, pushing Alfred back onto the mattress and pressing his lips to Alfred's bare chest, the crook of his neck. He rubbed Alfred's crotch through his underwear, and Alfred whined, needy, begging silently for more. Blood rushed downward as Kiku massaged him, stroked him through the fabric – Kiku _definitely_ knew what he was doing, and Alfred's breath quickened in desire. It wasn't fair – he wanted to touch Kiku too.  

Alfred tugged at the band of his underwear again, suggestively, and Kiku smiled – was that a smirk? - and pulled back, eliciting a desperate whine from Alfred. He pulled off his own pants and underwear, cock dark and half-hard already, and pulled out a condom and packet of lube from his wallet. Alfred's mouth watered. 

"Wait," Alfred inquired, trying to hide the tremor in his voice, "You always keep condoms on you?" 

"I like to be prepared in all situations," Kiku replied, putting his knee on the bed between Alfred's spread legs, just far enough that he wasn't touching him, but close enough that Alfred imagined himself rubbing his still-covered crotch against it. 

So that's exactly what he did. Alfred scooted himself forward just a little bit, rubbing himself against Kiku's bare knee, gasping loudly and throwing his head back at the sensation shooting through his body. Kiku stopped fumbling with the condom packet and placed a hand down to steady himself, reciprocating and rubbing his knee against the bulge in Alfred's underwear until a dark, wet, sticky spot started to form.  

Alfred pulled back to remove the last vestiges of his clothing, and Kiku jerked his knee back like he had burnt it, hands up in an apology. Right. Alfred choked back an annoyed sigh and pulled his underwear off, pulled Kiku back towards him and murmured, "I'm fine," in his ear.  

Kiku nodded jerkily, leaning forward, chest to bare chest with Alfred. He reached down to stroke Alfred's now naked cock, head buried in the crook of Alfred's neck.  

Alfred moaned again and guided Kiku's hands down further until they reached the crack of Alfred's ass. "I'll lie on my back," he said, hoping that if he narrated what he was doing Kiku wouldn't get spooked. "I'm ready to – you can..." 

The packet of lube crackled like thunder in the quiet room, and an electric shock of desire shot through Alfred as he imagined Kiku's fingers inside of him, stretching him, stroking him. That was as far as they'd ever made it back then, though Alfred had had more than one embarrassing, sticky-sheets dream about fucking and being fucked by Kiku. He let Kiku push him gently down onto the bed, lying down, let Kiku lift up one of his legs over his shoulder with a tantalizing grunt of effort.  

The lubricant was cold, and so were Kiku's fingers. Alfred remembered that, too, shivering with both chill and desire as Kiku's icy fingers left hot trails of sensation along his body, the thrill that they could be caught simultaneously a turn on and a source of terror. 

A genuine spike of fear made Alfred's eyes fly open, there in an instant and gone faster than he could place exactly where it came from. He swallowed it in what he hoped was a coy-yet-interested moan as Kiku's fingers slid into him, arching his back at the way his fingers massaged the inside of his body, gasping as Kiku touched a spot he'd touched so many times before.  

Alfred's body trembled with want, his cock hard and dripping, as Kiku slid in and out, in and out, managing to include a devious twist of the wrist as he pulled his fingers out completely. It was too hot to think, or too cold, or both, and Kiku hooked Alfred's other leg in the crook of his arm as he pulled out and put on the condom with a swiftness that shocked Alfred. 

Kiku rubbed a little bit more lubricant onto himself, cheeks flushed, eyelids fluttering at the sensation. Alfred's cock throbbed in response and he whimpered impatiently, propping himself upright on his elbows.  

For a moment, the only sound in the room was their labored breathing, then Alfred moaned, long and loud, as Kiku slid slowly into him. He tossed his head back, feeling himself fill up, and he cried out in pure bliss as Kiku grabbed his cock and stroked it, hand cupping the tip and grinding against it so that Alfred saw stars.  

Kiku pulled back, slowly, and slid back in, slowly, and Alfred groaned in impatience.  

"Stop teasing me," he begged, "Go faster, it's fine." 

"Are you sure?" Kiku fretted, still buried deep in Alfred's ass.  

Alfred wanted to scream. There were many problems he'd had  "Here," he suggested, "Lemme ride you. That way I can set the pace, okay?" 

Kiku nodded, and Alfred choked back his disappointment as Kiku pulled out. He grabbed Kiku and pulled him down for a quick kiss, rolling them both over so Kiku was on his back. Alfred kissed from his neck, down his chest, rolling one of Kiku's nipples between his fingers as he straddled him.  

Alfred grabbed Kiku's cock, dripping with precome, and his own, and brought the two together, rubbing his hand up, down, sliding the two cocks against each other partially because god _damn_ it felt good and partially because he wanted Kiku to know he'd learned some fancy new tricks out at college as well.  

"Alfred," Kiku gasped, "I'm going to, if you keep..." 

Alfred grinned wickedly and took that moment to slide himself onto Kiku, taking him up entirely. _Ow_ , Alfred winced internally. He hadn't been sleeping with much of anyone lately, so he wasn't quite as ready to do that as quickly as he had, but hell if he was gonna show Kiku that and let him start worrying again.  

Instead, he decided to distract Kiku by leaning over, cock still buried inside of him, and kiss Kiku breathless, sliding his hips just a little bit so Kiku brushed his sweet spot, rubbing it until his thighs ached with need.  

Once he was ready, he slid himself up again, then down, blushing at the sounds Kiku was making beneath him. He felt full, spread wide, and he reached back to spread his ass cheeks a little wider, stretching his hole even more, and when Kiku reached forward to grab his exposed cock he knew he was nearing his limit. 

Kiku rubbed up and down with one hand, the other grasping the headboard of the bed, and Alfred leaned over to smile down at him, sliding up, down, up, cock dripping, hole shining and wet with lube. Kiku kept brushing his prostate and Alfred clenched his cheeks, trying to get Kiku's cock positioned just perfectly, trying to time the movement of his hands with his bouncing up and down.  

He moaned louder, and Kiku moaned louder, and he slid up and down faster and faster and Kiku was arching his back and moving his hips and gasping as he reached up to hold Alfred's hand, clenched on the headboard.  

Kiku came, eyes shut and face red, and Alfred felt the swell of liquid in the condom as he slowed down, still hard and aching as Kiku's strokes became irratic. He pulled himself off, reluctantly, and wrapped his own hand over Kiku's pumping up and down until he felt the pressure build, coming over Kiku's stomach and hand.  

Alfred rolled off and onto the sweat-stained sheets, aching pleasantly, grinning giddily, swirling his fingers through the still-sticky come on Kiku's stomach. "Mmm," he said, absentmindedly, "I probably should have worn a condom, too." 

Kiku frowned, pulling off and tying the used condom. "I... I should have asked." 

The way he stood up was so stiff and uncomfortable that Alfred noticed it.  

"Oh," Alfred said, "Don't worry – just gotta make sure you wash your hands before touching your face or anything." 

"No," Kiku said, suddenly intense, "I mean, why didn't I ask? It's so important that you were comfortable, and what if you weren't, and just didn't want to say anything..." 

"Kiku," Alfred said, taken aback, "It's _fine,_ I don't know why you're still worried about that. I told you I'd tell you to stop." 

"It should've been me, though, looking out for you. I should have been there for you. I should've tried harder..." 

Alfred realized, suddenly, that Kiku wasn't talking about sex anymore, and felt the soft afterglow shrivel up and die around him. He had been worried that he would never be able to think of Kiku without thinking of what happened, but he hadn't even considered that Kiku would never be able to think of _him_ without the guilt, the anger, the worry... 

He felt sick.  

"I," Alfred tried to say, "I'm _better_. I told you I'm better, but you don't believe me."  

Because it had been too long, because they should have _talked about this_ before jumping right to sex, because they easy, finish-each-other's-sentences communication had somehow slipped away.  

"I think," Kiku said, "We should've talked more before doing this. I want to believe you, but the last time I saw you, you were still so hurt, and I don't know about anything since." 

Alfred felt a sudden rush of anger. "I'm sorry, okay? You keep blaming me for running off, and I'm sorry I hurt you, but I can't keep apologizing for reacting badly to being fucking-" 

"I'm not blaming you!" Kiku said, desperate, cutting him off because it was almost as hard for him to hear the name of the crime as it was for Alfred to say it, "I don't think it's your fault. I'm just... This is all wrong."  

All of the anger drained out of Alfred. Kiku was right, it was all wrong. "Do you... Do you want me to leave?"  

As soon as the words left his lips he regretted them. He was angry, and hurt, and desperate, and he didn't want to leave. It was like he was a teenager again, fresh out of the hospital, bloody and afraid that things would never be normal again but still _wanting,_ still _needing_.  

He hated it. 

"No," Kiku said, "Please don't leave. Please stay." 

Relief flooded through Alfred. "This _hurts_ ," Alfred whispered, because his voice was cracking at the edges, "It hurts. I wish I knew more about you – your college years, your friends, where you learned to kiss like that, and it's my-" He cut himself off, gritting his teeth. "It's not my fault. It's not your fault. But something's missing." 

Kiku pursed his lips, still standing, still naked. "I think, in that regard, we are on the same page." 

Alfred let out a breath of relief. "Well, it's something." 

"We should talk. I want... I want to get to know you, again." 

Alfred didn't quite smile. "Get to know you again. That sounds nice."  

There was a long pause, and Alfred felt the weight of his body sinking into Kiku's mattress. The sweat on his body made him shiver, now that they weren't holding each other. 

"I'm going to shower," Kiku said, suddenly, and Alfred thought... He hoped he recognized a cue... 

"I'll join you," he replied.  

Kiku nodded, face flushing slightly. He took Alfred's hand, ran his fingers along one of the scars on his palm. Most people could be convinced that they were just callouses from hard work, but Kiku would always know.  

Maybe that was alright.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long, omg. I should've known I wouldn't have real time to write this during the semester. The next one, hopefully, won't take as long. Please leave any constructive criticism in the comments!


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred didn't try to do anything other than kiss Kiku in the shower – he liked the simplicity of the hot water, the delicate smelling soap, the softness of Kiku's skin, pressed against his to keep them both in the spray. They could have been a couple, and this could have been just another date night. Kiku's mouth was slightly open, and Alfred leaned down into it, tasting the hot water on his lips as Kiku put his hand against the wall to brace himself – and accidentally grabbed the temperature control, causing a shock of cold to pour over both of them.

That was maybe a sign to take things slower. The way things ended up after they slept together was cold and uncomfortable, and Alfred shuddered to think about what would have happened if he'd actually had to leave.

Kiku offered Alfred a soft towel, and Alfred realized not for the first time that he maybe hadn't thought this through – his fancy, stiff suit lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. He shivered, towel wrapped around his waist.

"Do you want to borrow a t-shirt and shorts?" Kiku offered, rooting through his drawers.

Alfred laughed, "I'm not sure I'd fit into any of yours. You're way smaller than me. Not that I’m fat, though."

Kiku flushed slightly. "I – I still have some of your things. You could..." He didn't finish the thought, just pulled a pair of superman boxers and a plain gray shirt out from the back of a drawer.

Alfred's eyes widened. "Holy shit, dude – that's where those went." He let the towel drop to the floor and took the boxers in his hand. "I was looking for them when I was packing up for college – jesus."

Kiku nodded. "I have some others. You left, I think, two shirts and four pairs of boxers in total. And maybe you could fit into my things. You’re looking well."

That was probably code for _you’ve lost weight_. Alfred always had a healthy bit of chub (muscle, he’d insist) when he played football. After he stopped playing, or was made to stop, he also stopped eating, and he barely started again when he left town – his weight was at an all-time low as he went into his second year of college. He’d gotten some of it back, but he’d never needed or wanted to bulk back up.

There was a clinical detachedness in the way Kiku described the clothing Alfred had left. A lump formed in Alfred's throat. In between legal battles and therapy and a need to escape, Alfred hadn't even thought that he might've left anything behind. Did he have anything of Kiku's, buried in some drawer he refused to open?

Kiku pulled on a blue tracksuit, one Alfred didn't recognize, as Alfred pulled on the boxers and shirt. He didn't know how to start up the conversation both desperately needed to have, and he didn't know what he'd even ask. The depth of how much everything had changed was a painful sore, something that demanded Alfred's attention even as he tried to pretend it wasn't there.

After a few moments of silence, Kiku's eyes cast down towards the floor, Alfred decided he needed to say _something. "_ Should we, um. Talk?"

Kiku's body stiffened. "Yes. Yes, I suppose we should."

There was a tiny, fold out table in the corner of the room – it was wooden, something Kiku's mother had found at a yard sale for five dollars because of how low to the ground it was. Alfred remembered sitting on the floor, playing Yu-Gi-Oh with Kiku across it, far later into high school than either would have admitted at the time. He sat, cross legged, as Kiku plugged in his electric kettle to boil.

Alfred almost asked for a cup of tea, just to find some kind of common ground with Kiku, but he knew he'd never finish it – no matter what kind it was or who made it, he'd never be able to stomach the stuff. Liking the same food had never been critical when they were younger, when they knew everything about each other.

"So," Kiku said, as Alfred spluttered out "How-"

Both paused. Alfred gestured at Kiku to continue, and Kiku said, "No, go ahead," and everything was silent once more. It was like re-learning how to speak – something that was once so instinctual and now felt clumsy, confused.

"What was the best part of your university?" Kiku said, hesitantly.

Alfred pursed his lips. "Being away from here, honestly. Being out for the first time and not being afraid.  I made some good friends, too. How, uh. How did you pick medicine?"

"I shadowed an oncologist during winter break of my freshman year, and I was so in awe of her work. I wanted to do something like that."

There was another awful pause. Kiku tapped his chin, nervously, and said, "I think I know how this can work – you can ask a question, and I can ask a question. We'll alternate until one or both of us runs out."

Alfred nodded, apprehensive. "Should I go again, then?"

Kiku nodded.

"Okay," Alfred sucked in a breath, trying to think of something. "Okay. Uh. Were – what kind of clubs did you do in college?"

"I took up baseball again. I was very out of practice, but that couldn't be helped. I hadn't played in so long. Then, I did other academic things, like the biology scholars program. What about you?"

Alfred smiled. He'd loved baseball – it was how they'd met, of course. "A few things – I joined our QSA, though I was never very active. I also joined an 'out in science' club – that was nice. I was president, my senior year, and it's partially how I got the job I have now. We brought in some guy from the aerospace engineering department who knew a guy at NASA."

"That's amazing, Alfred," Kiku said, vehement.

"Thanks," Alfred replied. Then, he frowned. "It's cool that you got back into baseball. I... I never did get back into football. I couldn't. That's..." He stopped, shaking his head, realizing too late that he was bringing to mood down and trying awkwardly to fix it. "It's fine - I have other stuff now. Hey, can I ask – did you date much, in college?"

Kiku blushed bright red. "Alfred!"

Alfred put his palms up, "What? I just wanna know who I have to compete with, you know?"

Kiku sighed, stretching himself over to rest his head in his palms on the table. "I was in an on and off relationship with this international student from Greece, and also a little bit with a different international student from Turkey for most of my first three years. After that I wanted to take some time for myself, so I wasn't really in any relationships, but I did see a few people."

Alfred let out a whistle of surprise. Kiku had apparently had a _great_ time in college, and Alfred was suddenly self conscious about his relative lack of experience. He'd only ever been with two people, Kiku included, and only tried to hook up with someone random at a party once. The morning after the latter, he'd felt shaky and nervous, and decided that kind of lifestyle wasn't for him.

Kiku's embarrassed flush crept up to his ears. "Please don't make fun of my behavior."

"Oh, no, no, it's fine!" Alfred rushed to assure him, "Don't worry – I mean, what we did just a bit ago was way better than what we would do before, so I can't really complain."

Kiku nodded, then looked pointedly at Alfred and asked, "Can I ask you about who _you_ have dated?"

Alfred winced, but then, that was only fair. "Just one guy. His name's Ivan – we got together in sophomore year. He was great, but after school he got a job in Russia, and the long distance thing didn't really work. We still talk, though."

There were things about Ivan that Alfred couldn't say to Kiku, that without him Alfred doesn't think he would have survived college, that aside from Kiku, Ivan is the only person he ever willingly told about what happened, that it was Ivan who finally got through to Alfred and convinced him to start regularly visiting a therapist. The most formative years of Alfred's healing process, and it was Ivan Alfred spent them with.

That wasn't Kiku's fault, but Alfred knew talking about it would just make Kiku feel guilty.

The conversation lulled as Alfred realized he was stuck in what to ask. There were a million tiny things, tell me about your first apartment, what is your favorite restaurant in San Francisco, what TV shows are you currently watching, but Alfred wasn't sure which one to start with. Every little think Alfred used to know but now didn't just reminded him of how far apart they'd been.

Kiku looked desperate to ask another question.

Alfred nodded at him and said, "Go ahead and ask another, I need a minute."

"Do you still talk to Arthur?" He said.

Alfred froze. "No," he said, flatly.

Kiku paused, waiting for more, and when it didn't come, he nodded and hid his disappointment.

Alfred sighed, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "Sorry, I just... That was bad. It was a really bad few weeks. I don't like to remember it."

Kiku looked at Alfred, reached over to clasp Alfred's hands in his. Alfred brought them up to press a kiss to Kiku's palm.

"I'll... I should tell you."

"You don't have to."

Alfred smiled into Kiku's hands. He knew Kiku wanted to know – he and Arthur had never been close, he really only knew him as a new friend, along with Francis and Michelle, that he'd managed to pick up after he was attacked.

It had always been so, so ironic – the person responsible for outing him to the entire school was one of the only ones who even talked to him afterwards. Of course, Arthur had also been the one that found him, bloody and half-dressed behind the school, but it had really felt like something that Arthur, notorious target of the football team (and sometimes even Alfred himself), had gone beyond dropping him off at home and had accepted him into his small, close knit group so late into their senior year.

Alfred still wasn't sure how much of their friendship was based on Arthur's gnawing guilt for being somewhat responsible for what happened, how much on Alfred's desperate need for companionship, and how much was genuine.

"No, it's okay," Alfred sighed.

Second semester of Junior year, Alfred was finally comfortable with opening up a little bit more about what had happened to people other than Ivan. Nothing specific, just the general - that he was the victim of a hate crime, which happened because he had been outed to the school. Little details would come out sometimes, like being kicked off the football team, like his parents only coming around when something _really bad_ happened, and like eventually making friends with the guy who outed him.

A friend of his had been shocked at that – outing someone against their will, and to a school he knew would react violently, was one of the worst things a person could do. Alfred couldn't really argue, and he didn't want to explain how much he _needed_ the companionship, and that had kind of been a dark cloud hanging over his few interactions with Arthur after high school – so he decided the two needed to talk about it.

It went _horribly_. Alfred was never good with words, and Arthur went immediately on the defensive.

Alfred didn't remember the conversation, just snippets of _you backed me into a corner, I knew it was the only way to make you leave me alone, how dare you bring this up to me after I stood by you afterwards_ – his brain stashed it behind the same wall of memory it stashed the rape in order to keep Alfred functioning at some basic level, and he was pretty sure Arthur hadn't said anything outright homophobic, but he had remembered feeling completely shattered afterwards. The small, insidious voice that had whispered _this was your fault_ to him night after night crept back into his consciousness, something he'd spent the past year of bi-weekly therapy sessions trying to fight off.

Ivan and him were living together in an apartment, but Ivan was away at some big conference, and Alfred remembered just _lying_ there, on the bed, barely moving until Ivan came home three days later. He missed a quiz, a lab, and the social he'd spent the past month planning.

A few days later, after Ivan came home and Alfred explained everything, Arthur tried to contact Alfred – to apologize, maybe, Alfred didn't know – Ivan answered because Alfred didn't think he could, and he spent at least a half hour describing what Arthur had done to Alfred and detailing everything he would do if Arthur ever tried to talk to Alfred again.

"Ivan was uh, always a little bit possessive," Alfred finished up. "And a little bit intense. Arthur sent me a text that said _I'm sorry_ a few days later, but that was it, and I never tried to talk to him after."

Kiku's face was hard to read. He leaned over and gave Alfred a peck on the lips, murmuring, "It was rude of me to ask."

Alfred shook his head. "It's cool. I'm mostly over it."

Kiku fidgeted, too embarrassed to ask another question.

Alfred frowned, pensive. "Do you want to know more about what I was like at the beginning of college? It wasn't pretty."

"Do you want to tell me?"

"No," Alfred replied, firm. "Not really, not now, at least. It was awful – you remember what I was like end of my senior year. I've spent so much time trying to move past that, it hurts to think about how bad it was just a few short years ago. Learning to love myself, to be _proud_ of who I am – I've reached a point where I can finally do that, and I don't like to think about the times I couldn't."

"That's fair," Kiku whispered. "I... I know it was so much worse for you. It affected me, too – I was off and on with the Greek student because I needed us to keep it secret, and that didn't stop until well into my third year. It just... It couldn't be helped. Not after."

Alfred nodded – he understood, at least a little. Kiku didn't go to their school, he'd never come under fire like Alfred had. It made sense that seeing Alfred hurt so badly would force him deeper into the closet, make it harder for him to come out.

"Let's talk about something else," Alfred tried, "I don't... It's not like what happened is the only thing we have in common. What kind of shows have you been into?"

Kiku scooted around the table to sit next to Alfred. His body was warm, comforting, as he leaned against him and closed his eyes.

Shows, movies – his favorite scene from The Walking Dead, whether Kiku was excited for the newest Star Wars, how he was handling the hiatus of his favorite anime. As they talked, Alfred realized their interests were overlapping again – as Kiku started to describe the senseless gore of the Walking Dead, Alfred could fill in, because he knew what scenes Kiku was talking about.

"Wasn't it so sad when she died?"

"I know, god, it fucked me up for like, a month!"

Time passed, the conversation became easier. Their interests were still in line, like they were back in high school – it seemed like subconsciously, both had gravitated towards similar media. The thought was reassuring, something to hold onto in a sea of unknowns.

After a while, Kiku lay himself on Alfred's lap, describing the last con he went to, dressed up as his favorite character from Attack on Titan. He didn't have much time during medical school, but there was a convention in the city, and he tried to allow himself to do fun things in between the grueling workload.

Alfred stroked Kiku's hair, talking about the smaller, more intimate gatherings he sometimes went to. He didn't go out too much, but every once in a while he'd go to a bar with friends, or do the occasional puzzle challenge with coworkers. He worked a lot, but he didn't really have the energy to go out late, so most socialization happened in-office.

It was completely dark outside by the time Alfred thought to check the time from the LED clock on Kiku's bedside – almost midnight.

"Oh, shit," he started. He hadn't brought his phone with him, he hadn't thought to check. "I should... I gotta get back. Wait, did your parents ever come home?"

Kiku shook his head against Alfred's leg. "If it's like last year, my mother will be staying at your house until tomorrow. She, ah, had a lot of champagne."

Alfred barked out a laugh – what a funny image of the very reserved Mrs. Honda. "Alrighty, then. Still, I should probably be getting back, I never really told my parents I was leaving..."

"Stay," Kiku nearly whined, "You can sleep here. Are you leaving early tomorrow?"

"No," Alfred shook his head, "Not till the day after, and I mean, I guess I don’t have too much to do..."

"Then stay," Kiku gripped Alfred's hand and placed a kiss to his knuckles. "Please. Sleep here."

"Just sleep?"

" _Just_ sleep."

Alfred didn't know if he should be disappointed. After how badly the last time went, it would have been a terrible idea to try again. Sleeping, just sleeping, with Kiku would be nice - he'd never quite lost his post-trauma need for physical contact. Or maybe he’d just learned over time that it wasn’t “gay” to want to be held.

He didn’t know what his parents would think. No one had tried to get him – maybe they all felt it would be too awkward.

Kiku brushed his teeth, then climbed into the bed, barely big enough for two. Alfred followed – he pulled the covers up and over them, then slowly turned to face Kiku’s back. His hand reached out and his fingers touched the soft fabric of Kiku’s pajamas. Kiku shuddered pleasantly, and Alfred leaned his face forward to press his lips to the top of Kiku’s head.

They’d only been able to do this a few times before. There was too much _what if they find out_ , _I need to go home before my parents suspect anything_ , not enough privacy to just _lie_ together, feeling the other’s warmth. Alfred rested his hand on Kiku’s upper arm, massaging into the wiry muscle there, caressing up and down before finally resting it on Kiku’s chest.

Kiku reached up to squeeze it, tangled his bent legs with Alfreds’.

Alfred smiled into the nape of Kiku’s neck. He smelled warm and clean. It wasn’t like last night, when he went to bed worrying about what he’d dream of, alone in the dark in a house that still hurt to be in. This was better – this is what they should have done from the start.

They weren’t entirely back to where they were all those years ago, but it was a much needed repair Alfred didn’t know he’d been missing.

An idea came to him then, slow and burning - reconciling with Kiku wasn’t quite the only unfinished business he had here.

That was for another day, though. For now, Alfred lay there, letting himself fall asleep to the rhythmic in, out, in, out of Kiku’s breath.


	4. Chapter 4

Kiku stirred in his sleep, jolting Alfred back to wakefulness. The room was somehow familiar and foreign at the same time – the same posters painted the walls, the same gadgets lined the shelves, but the layout and architecture were different.

A ray of light snuck through the closed curtains and illuminated the LED screen of the digital clock on Kiku’s table. It was 7 am, and Alfred had nowhere else he needed to be. Nowhere else he wanted to be.

Alfred was wrapped around Kiku, his slender body fitting between Alfred’s broad shoulders and twining in between his legs. He nestled his nose in the crook of Kiku’s neck and inhaled deeply. Kiku didn’t smell _good_ necessarily, he smelled like skin and a little bit of sweat and the remnants of last night’s shampoo – but he smelled like Kiku, and that was sweet enough for Alfred.

“Tickles,” Kiku murmured sleepily. “What time is it?”

“Too early,” Alfred mumbled into Kiku’s neck, tightening his arm around him and bringing himself in closer. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

Kiku didn’t answer. He was already asleep, apparently. Alfred grinned, emotion bubbling up in him and threatening to overthrow. He let it pool in him, throb through his fingertips – and then he let himself fall back into darkness.

* * *

Alfred needed to leave eventually. He’d run off from Thanksgiving dinner with no explanation and not come home at all afterwards – his family was no doubt worried sick, or at least confused. A dark pang hit him that his parents might be angry, and he tried hard to ignore it. He’d hoped his family had learned that support didn’t just mean not hating him after something horrible happened.

He sometimes, often, wondered what would have happened if he’d never been raped. He might not have been so miserable for so long, but it wouldn’t have been too much better. Maybe his parents never would have come around, maybe his brother never would have stood by him so fiercely.

Was it worth it, really?

He kissed Kiku again, hand caressing Kiku’s jawline as Kiku arched up into him in bed. Kiku made him tea, which he didn’t drink, and offered him breakfast, which he declined.

Being back had been unnerving at best – what happened to him loomed like a cloud over everything he did, everyone he talked to. Alfred didn’t know what had happened to any of his rapists after the trial. A few got jail time, a few got community service, a few got off with nothing. There was a reporter and it had made news in the next town over, but nothing more serious than that, something Alfred was honestly kind of grateful for. He wasn’t sure he’d be where he was if his trauma was plastered in the news for months afterward, if people at his university had known.

He felt like there was something he was missing, some final step left, that maybe he could only accomplish by being back. Maybe it was what he planned to do later.

His heart had frozen when Matthew said one of them worked at the local supermarket. He’d never tried to find out about them, never wanted to look. Alfred was back for the first time in years, he needed to _know_. To confront. To stop letting this be a stagnant black pool in his memory that he refused to disturb.

When Alfred opened the door, he smelled coffee brewing, heard the sizzle of bacon and pumpkin pancakes, his favorite post-Thanksgiving treat. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes, and Alfred didn’t know why they were there or how to make them go away. He remembered the morning after Thanksgiving, remnants of dishes his parents didn’t have the energy to clean still in the kitchen, his mother relaxed, as unkempt as she let herself be in pajamas and slippers, flipping pancakes onto his plate, his father brewing the coffee and laughing like he’d just heard the funniest joke.

Something tore at him, wondering if he’d be able to experience this painful familiarity if he hadn’t been so badly hurt. Asking if his parents would have wanted him, if it still wouldn’t have been years before he saw his mother smile at him again. Wishing that his parents had accepted him from the outset, that he got to come home year after year after year for pumpkin pancakes and maybe what had happened still would have happened, but his house wouldn’t leave an empty ache in him that no amount of belated love could fill up.

Matthew came downstairs as Alfred blinked away his sadness. He grinned, eyeing Alfred up and down. “Good night, hm?”

Alfred tried to smile. “Yeah. I missed him.”

Matthew clapped him on the back. “C’mon, it’s pancake day. We saved some for you.”

“Do you think… Do you think Mom and Dad will be mad about this?”

“About you and Kiku? Nah. They’re… They’re really making an effort. They want you to be happy.”

Alfred nodded. It wasn’t an ideal, but it was alright. He was alright. He’d make it alright.

He sat down to a plate of freshly-cooked pumpkin pancakes being plopped in front of him. Neither of his parents said anything, but the gesture was a lot, considering what had happened before. He slathered on butter and maple syrup, a present from Matthew, fresh from Canada. He ate in awkward silence, nervousness creeping at the corners of his mind, wondering what would happen and if he should talk.

Finally, his mother asked, “Did you enjoy Thanksgiving dinner yesterday?”

Alfred nodded, mouth full of pancake. He wanted to say something, like “It was good, I never eat that good when I’m by myself,” but the pancakes were sticking in his throat and he needed time to swallow them down.

Kiku was definitely an elephant in the room. Alfred wondered if he was making breakfast for himself – his parents weren’t home, Alfred assumed they were still sleeping in the guest room upstairs. He wondered what Kiku’s parents had to say about this.

His parents looked like they wanted to say something but were too nervous. Alfred wasn’t going to press them – he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what was on their mind.

Finally, his father spoke up. “Al, son, there… There was a reason we asked you to come back this year. Why we pushed it so hard.”

Alfred didn’t answer.

His mother continued the thought, “We… After what happened, we tried to change. We’ve hardly seen you, and you haven’t been back since…”

_The trial,_ Alfred finished the thought. He still didn’t say anything. They needed to say what they wanted to, Alfred wouldn’t help them out by filling in. They had tried to change, and Alfred was grateful, but it had taken so long and left Alfred so shattered that he didn’t have the luxury of letting them off easy. His safety depended on it.

“We wanted to show you that, well, things have changed. For the better. Your old school started its first gay-straight alliance last year.”

“Second,” Alfred corrected sharply. He hadn’t meant to say it so aggressively, and his parents looked surprised. Did they remember, like he did?

His mother let out a puff of air. “Second. But it’s still going, with the school’s support, even.”

Alfred swallowed. “That’s… That’s good. I’m glad.”

His mother and father smiled.

His father continued, “We were hoping that, well… We miss you. And if you wanted to come back and visit more often, that might be nice.”

Come back and visit. Things about this place had left Alfred cracked open, still stitching himself together years afterward. Meeting Kiku again, talking to him, had gotten rid of some of his revulsion, but was it enough? Would it ever be enough? Alfred wasn’t sure. He gave a non-committal answer and tried not to feel guilty at the disappointment on his parents’ faces. Maybe it could happen, but Alfred couldn’t think about that now. He had something to take care of.

* * *

Maybe he wasn’t working today.

The pancakes sat heavy in Alfred’s stomach as he stepped up into the old car. He thought the last time he drove it might’ve been before it happened. Before he was outed. He didn’t remember, though, and it was best not to dwell.

His parents had acted very awkward – they all probably assumed he’d slept with Kiku. Well, he had, but it was so much more than that. In fact, that might have been the low point of the whole meeting.

Alfred wondered if they’d be that awkward if he’d spent the night at an ex-girlfriend’s house and decided he didn’t want to think about that. He needed to focus. Just a glimpse, just to know.

Why did he want to do this?

He knew in his heart that he had won. That he was working for NASA in California, and one of his rapists was working at a grocery store in his tiny, useless town. He knew, but he wanted _him_ to know. To truly see what Alfred had become – confident, successful, out and proud.

Alfred’s hands shook.

_“Did you enjoy Thanksgiving dinner yesterday?”_ his mother had asked.

He had nodded. Maybe the pancakes were too sweet – how much sugar was in them? He remembered junior year of high school, the second to last time he’d tasted them. They were the best pancakes he’d ever tasted, better as his dad patted him on the back and told him they’d need to start talking _options_ and _football scholarships_ now that he’d been bumped up to a first-tier player on the team. 

The last time he’d tasted them, he hadn’t tasted them. They’d slid like molasses down his throat, sticking there and tasting like ash. It was after he was outed and before he was attacked, and the silence was throbbing and painful. His dad didn’t want to talk about _options_ , a scholarship was out of the question. A brochure for a “spiritual center,” a gay conversion camp, was on the table – a friend of his mothers had given it to her. They weren’t thinking about sending him to college or speaking to the principal about the bullying he was facing, they were thinking about fixing him.

It was Friday and any other year he would have been going out with friends. He asked Matthew, who was glaring at the pamphlet like it was diseased but still not speaking to him, if he wanted to play video games. Matthew told him maybe next week, today he had agreed to meet up with the guys and practice for hockey season, which was coming up. He’d said that the week before, too – but it was okay. He seemed genuine this time.

The weekend came and went and Alfred’s hands shook as he turned the ignition on. He’d said he needed to pick up a new calculator as an excuse to take the car. He was in the present.

Monday had passed like a whirlwind. He’d gotten use to the pushing, the names, the slurs. Sometimes, one of the team members would grab him, touch him – he’d started to get used to that too. Matthew would shoo the group away when they did that – or, he’d try to.

Alfred had overheard Arthur talking about a secret place behind the school. No one went there, it was covered in weeds and ivy, a little pocket in between oddly-shaped buildings. He’d learned to listen – to hear, to know when someone was coming up behind him, and he’d picked up this tidbit along the way.

Tuesday and Wednesday he hid. Thursday, he was found. He was sitting there, head in hands, wondering how much more he could take and how much worse it needed to get for anyone to care.

Alfred pulled up into the grocery store parking lot. He was in the present.

What did he want to do? Go up, ask casually, _do you remember when you raped me?_

He knew what the goal was, to show whoever worked here how far he’d truly come, how they didn’t destroy him – but he didn’t know how.

The doors slid open, automatic. People bustled around him – maybe some recognized him, maybe not. He didn’t care. Let them recognize, let them remember what happened.

His eyes scanned the crowds for someone, a familiar face – he didn’t even know who it was he was looking for.

“Alfred?”

Alfred jumped.

Ludwig was looking at him, a package of bratwurst in his hands, confused. “I thought your mother was going shopping tomorrow.”

“We ran out of paper towels,” Alfred said, lamely. That wasn’t going to fool anyone – there was no way his parents were going to run out of paper towels. He just hoped Ludwig was polite enough not to call him out on it.

“Hey, Alfred, are you alright?”

That was worse. Alfred didn’t want to think about that. His hands were shaking. He was angry.

“Is it – are you on edge because of what happened? It’s natural, I remember when Feli-”

“ _Stop_ ,” Alfred snapped. “Stop it – why… Why do you keep bringing that up? Do you think it’ll make me feel better that I wasn’t the _only_ gay kid traumatized by this place? Do you have some weird obsession with what happened to him, to me?”

Ludwig blinked, slowly, shocked. “Alfred, did I ever tell you I was gay?”

That was an atom bomb of a perspective change.

“Oh,” Alfred said, because he couldn’t think of anything else. A part of him was aware that they were in a store, and that it was crowded, and that people could hear them both. “Oh. Uh, no.”

Ludwig nodded, awkward. “Sorry. That’s why I mentioned it – we were dating when it happened. And Kiku and I have talked since. And – I’m not good with talking. And I’m not really out. But I can understand, somewhat, how you’re feeling.”

Alfred didn’t know what to say to that. Of course Feliciano had friends, family – he’d never thought about them, though. He’d never tried to connect with Feliciano – at the time it happened, he was so scared that his new relationship with Kiku would be discovered he’d never dared do anything.

“I’ll see you, then. Alfred, take care, okay?”

Alfred gave a jerky nod. How did the people who were like him, who were hurt like him, deal with it?

Ludwig glanced back at him as he walked off and into the swell of black Friday shoppers.

He was working the cashier.

All thoughts of Ludwig and Feliciano faded away. Alfred recognized his curly brown hair and glinting blue eyes immediately, but of course Matthew wouldn’t remember individuals.

There was a fair amount of waving-off Alfred had done of the football team’s behavior, but he always could share an especially concerned glance with this one teammate when things got bad. Neither _approved_ , clearly, both were too weak to do anything about it.

If it had been someone else they had targeted, someone else they had attacked as a group, would he have ignored it? Would he have participated?

His name was Ian. Alfred remembered the look on his face as the other held him down, horrified and nauseous – wondered if he’d had the same expression when he took his turn with Alfred. He looked up, briefly, and Alfred ducked into the aisle in a rush of fear.

He felt his breath quicken, his hands start to shake. Maybe it hadn’t been long enough. Maybe he’d never be ready to face any of them again.

Alfred took deep, shaking breaths, and methodically read out the names of the condom brands he was staring at, across the aisle, under his breath. _Give your mind something simple to focus on. Reading names, listing addresses. Distract yourself_.

As he calmed, an idea came to him. He grabbed a box of condoms, not paying attention to size or brand or _ribbed for her pleasure_ , grit his teeth, and decided he needed to do this. He needed to prove he was better.

Walking towards the cashiers felt like walking home afterwards. He was stiff _but not in pain, you remember the pain, it’s not here now_ , jolting strangely _but not because of the uncomfortable wetness of blood, you’re not bleeding_ , swaying on his feet _, no one’s here to lift-carry you back, you’re alone, Arthur doesn’t want to talk to you, stop that get a_ grip-

_He_ was talking to the cashier next to him, a cute blonde girl who couldn’t be more than sixteen – _stay away from him,_ Alfred thought, _he’ll hurt you_. He was talking and chuckling and didn’t notice Alfred, in the back of the line behind a woman with her week’s work of groceries.

He didn’t notice Alfred, and then he did.

There was a moment, just before it happened. Before the assault all those years ago. Alfred knew he was cornered, there were at least ten of them and one of him, and he was trapped. What was about to happen was going to be horrible, the fear thick like the instant before a car crash, seeing the headlights coming on but knowing no matter how fast the breaks get hit there’s no way to prevent it, hoping that it won’t end in death.

The team captain, the conductor in his symphony of abuse, had reached out and grabbed the lapel of his jacket, sending up a chorus of cackling laughter. Alfred had reacted on instinct, grabbed the hand grabbing his jacket to pull it off, and the captain had jerked away like Alfred was hot iron. Like his touch was poisonous, and Alfred thought, for one powerful, soaring moment, _are you afraid of me?_

The fear was gone from his face in an instant, and – and then-

It was the same face that Alfred saw when he stared at his former teammate now. They all looked the same to him, a mass of differing enthusiasm. The brief flash of something frightened – this time, though, it lingered. Why? Was he afraid of what Alfred might do to him?

There was a dark black bruise under his eye. Matthew’s handiwork.

Alfred couldn’t stop staring. Ian couldn’t stop staring. Alfred felt hands ripping open his jeans, felt hot tar rage bubbling out of the scab of a memory. There were two families behind him in line and he was trapped, walking closer, closer.

He dropped the box of condoms onto the conveyor belt.  

He saw the face in front of him curl into a snarl.

_No one can hurt you now,_ Alfred calmed himself. _You’re in a grocery store. What is he going to do?_

A crowd of high schoolers crowded around the flagpole, some laughing, some shocked, no one helping the bloody body attached to it. Alfred saw the words they wrote on the boy’s skin, trying to shield Matthew from the horror in front of them.

_No one will ever know about me_ , he’d thought. _About Kiku._

The beep of the scanner made Alfred jump. The price flashed green across the cash register. Neither of them spoke.

Alfred asked, “Aren’t you going to ask if I need a bag?”

Ian didn’t answer. He pulled out a bag like it made him sick, the same way Alfred held the blood-soaked cloth he had used to clean himself after.

Alfred dropped the cash onto the table. He took the bag and the condoms. Was this it? What his big confrontation was supposed to be like? He wanted to say something, do something, _hurt him_ -

“Alfred!”

Alfred jerked up. Ludwig was staring at him from beyond the register – Alfred took the bag and the condoms and left. People were staring.

His legs were cold. That didn’t make sense – he was wearing thick jeans and long socks and it wasn’t that cold – but his legs were _freezing_ , just like-

_Shit_. Alfred clutched at the bag, feeling the crevices in the plastic to remind himself of where he was. He couldn’t Ian’s eyes out of his head, because he remembered them boring into him, piercing him the entire time they assaulted him.

Ludwig was saying something like _deep breaths, calm, I’m here_ but Alfred knew himself and his panic attacks well enough to understand that they were well beyond that point. His hands were tingly and numb, unable to feel the features of the bag.

“Get me out of here,” Alfred forced out through gritted teeth. “Ludwig, _get me out of here.”_

Heads turned as he shouted. Out of the corner of his eye, Ian got up from the register – _is he going to hurt me?_ The spasm of a thought flitted across his mind, as Ian left the edges of his vision. No, no. He was gone.

Ludwig nodded, face cloudy and sad, and lead Alfred to a beat-up pickup truck with an ugly anthropomorphic gear and _Bielschmidt’s Auto-Shop_ in kitschy red paint. He could barely read it through tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. He was so, so cold.

He was having the same _fucking_ panic attack he’d had a million _fucking_ times even though he was supposed to be six years and a couple thousand miles removed from what they did to him. Alfred was _angry,_ he was so, so angry – shaking hands, pounding head, floodgate of awful memories open.

“ _Dad, please look at me – it’s awful, and it’s getting worse-” Silence, awful pounding nothingness of a response._

_“Al, don’t you think if you’d have been nicer, people would be helping you now?” Matthew sat next to him in the lunchroom, and Alfred couldn’t find an answer. Someone smacked his ass as he left the lunchroom and he ran off, choking on his own humiliation in a bathroom stall. Do I really deserve this? he thought._

_“I need a hospital.” He was begging, pain screeching at every movement. His clothes were hanging, dripping watery blood onto the bathroom floor, but he couldn’t find the energy to move them. “Please, take me to the hospital.”_

_“Sleep, we’ll talk about this tomorrow.” Dismissal, his parents staring down at him in horror. Matthew reaching out to him and being pulled away._

_In the end, Matthew came to him, bleeding over the side of the bed in the eerie moonlight of the early morning, and drove him. Did I deserve this? Alfred thought, lying alone in the backseat._

“Do you want me to take you home?” Ludwig asked.

“ _No,_ ” Alfred spit out. The thought of what his brother, his parents would think if they saw him like this made his stomach churn. “No, _fuck_.” He slammed his fist into the car door. It hurt. It dented the metal.

“Do you want to come to the shop, then? We’re closed today.”

Alfred nodded. He felt the rumbling in the old, beat up truck, clung to it as he tried to bring himself down. He was in the present, he had a good job, good friends, he was _proud_ and nothing could take that away from him.

But it still _hurt_.

There were a million things that shouldn’t have happened to him. He shouldn’t have been outed. He shouldn’t have been raped, and he shouldn’t have _needed_ to be raped for the people he cared most about to finally realize their love for their son outweighed their old prejudices, and barely then. He shouldn’t be having a panic attack in a grocery store parking lot because he’d probably never truly get over what they did to him.

He shouldn’t have done this.

Ludwig pulled up to the old auto shop. Alfred remembered a just-started-high school Ludwig, remembered his cool older brother with the spiky white hair at the shop. His family used to get their car tuned up at this place, his parents boasted that the Bielschmidts were the best in the business.

They used to boast about him, too.

Alfred was shaking so hard he could barely open the door, his knees almost buckled as he hopped out.

Ludwig sat him down on a bench in the garage, got him a glass of water. The smell of motor oil was enough of a shock to the senses that he clung to it, pulled it in to overwhelm the _bad_ permeating his body.

Finally, finally, the attack calmed, the water in his grip stopped shaking long enough for him to take a sip. Tears beaded at the corners of his eyes, and Alfred didn’t try to stop them from falling. He sat there, stone-still, and let himself cry.

Ludwig put one hand on his shoulder, and Alfred leaned into him, let himself be pulled into a warm hug.

“I hate it here, Ludwig,” he sobbed, shoulders shaking, “I hate it, I hate it, I _hate it.”_

Ludwig didn’t say anything, but Alfred felt him nod, softly.

After a while, the crying subsided, too, and Alfred was left with a hot, roiling ball of emotion in his stomach and the same shuddering chills he got after he threw up. He pulled back from Ludwig, wincing slightly at the wet spot on Ludwig’s shirt that he’d cried into.

He took a deep breath. He pulled himself down, just like he always did. He opened his eyes and remembered, _I am in the present. I have a good job. I have good friends, I am better than what they did to me._

“Are you… Doing okay?” Ludwig asked again.

Alfred nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah. I – one of the guys who hurt me works at that grocery store. I thought if I confronted him, I’d get some kind of closure, but when I saw him... Well, that didn’t happen. I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Ludwig assured him.

Alfred let out a snort of a laugh. “Thanks.” He sighed again, sat back. He was still shaking, still not ready to face his family at home, not sure what to do or where to go.

Should he call Kiku?

“Ludwig,” Alfred said, feeling the fear creeping back, needing something to detract, “Can you tell me about Feliciano?”

Ludwig raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yes, sure. Okay. What do you want to know?”

Alfred shrugged. “Dunno, anything. Why’d you like him?”

Ludwig smiled, softly. “Everyone liked him. He could charm you with one conversation.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

“No, we were playing dodgeball in gym one year and he hid behind me. He annoyed the hell out of me at the time – crying and hiding when we needed to win a game,” Ludwig laughed at the memory, “Then he got hit in the face and his nose started bleeding and I walked him to the nurse.”

Alfred managed to crack a small smile at that. “Sounds like love at first sight.”

“Oh, it was. He insisted on repaying me for it, so he took me back to his place for some very fancy Italian wine. And I got very, very drunk, and, well – I learned I wasn’t as straight as I thought. He was great, though – his mom and dad would cook huge bowls of pasta for me when I came over, though they thought we were just friends. Feli used to sneak homemade chocolates into my locker. Also, half of the girls in our class wanted him – he was so damn _likable.”_

Alfred frowned, slightly. “Was he nice?”

“Oh yeah. The nicest guy you’d ever met, kind of a crybaby though.”

Alfred nodded. It didn’t matter how nice you were, then. This town chewed him and Feliciano up and spat them out, and here they were, still licking their wounds.

“Ludwig,” Alfred said, slow and nervous, “Have things gotten better here? Like, really?”

Ludwig’s small smile disappeared as he pulled himself out of a happy memory.  “For what, for gay people?”

Alfred nodded, trying hard to be nonchalant. The shaking in his hands betrayed him though, as did the intensity with which he stared at Ludwig.

“That’s… complicated,” Ludwig sighed. “The local LGBT youth center hasn’t been vandalized in a record-long amount of time. Oh, yeah, we have one of those,” he said at Alfred’s shocked expression. “A little dive-bar outside of town, too. I’ve seen new people there for the first time since I turned twenty-one, total out of towners, not the kids from the local high school who grew up and realized.”

“Mom… Mom said there’s a gay-straight alliance?”

Ludwig nodded, a dark shadow flitting over his eyes. “Yeah. Going on its second year, this year. It… One day, the president’s locker got vandalized, all sort of nasty slurs and threats all over it.”

Alfred winced – that hit a little too close to home. “Is… He – she – are they okay?”

“Yeah,” Ludwig mused, ruminating in his own surprise, “Yeah, she was fine, if a little upset. And you know? It was the funniest thing – the school looked on the cameras to find who it was, and when they caught him, they suspended him.”

Memories, flashes, of himself sitting in the principal’s office and _begging_ for something to be done about his near-constant harassment bubbled up painfully. “That’s… Ludwig, that’s amazing.”

Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, and Alfred let them fall. He wasn’t going to have another panic attack, he just… Needed this. Needed to cry. He wiped at the tears and accepted a tissue from Ludwig’s outstretched hand.

“I don’t hate it here as much as I used to,” Ludwig said, “I’m still alone, though, and I still hear the things people whisper to the gay kids in the hallway, and a record amount of time for us means about half a year. Gil’s sick, and I can’t leave him – can’t leave the shop. Feliciano’s never going to come back here, though, and honestly, I think it’s better that way.”

Alfred nodded. Coming back meant seeing Kiku again – he didn’t regret that. Other than that, though, all it had done was make him more miserable than he had felt in a long time. It was too much, too close – and it would never really go away. He lived with it, like a car alarm always going off in the back of his mind - it got further away with time, so he could sleep and dream and be happy, and there was no reason to bring himself closer to the source. “Ludwig – you should come out to California if you can. Get out of here, just for a bit.”

Ludwig didn’t smile. “It’s a nice thought, Alfred.”

* * *

Alfred needed to tell his family.

He got back to a firestorm of worried questions – this time, no one knew where he was, and they weren’t happy about it. He eventually decided he would just tell the truth: He’d attempted to confront his attacker, who worked at the grocery store, and ended up panicking and needing to calm down somewhere.

No one knew what to say to that. No one, for their part, shouted at him that it had been an awful idea from the beginning.

They had enough turkey left over to last for days. His father had made turkey chili – a steaming hot bowl of spice served over rice, and Alfred sent Kiku a quick winky-face emoji, masking how his hands trembled at what he’d done earlier.

Kiku texted back an alien face, along with _See you later?_

_Yea_ , _ur place??_ Alfred sent back.

_Parents headed out at 9, how about then?_

Alfred sent an eggplant emoji in response, and let himself laugh at the series of angry emojis Kiku sent back.

For all their awkwardness the day before, their interactions were much more fluid than what was awaiting him at the dinner table.

The bowl of steaming chili was enticing, tempting. Alfred realized belatedly that he was starving, and he burned his tongue as he took a gulping spoonful in.

No one spoke. Matthew had the most experience talking to him about this, about his recurring trauma, but the radio silence proved that even this was outside of his domain. Finally, it was too much – his parents had asked if he would come home more often, and he needed to give them his answer.

“I’m flying home tomorrow,” he murmured, “Early. And… I know you asked about me coming home more often. I thought about it, and I can’t. I’m not coming back here.”

His parents paused, looked each other in the eye.

“Alfred… We just want to see you more often,” his father said, almost pleading.

“I know,” Alfred replied, “I’m sorry. I… I can’t. You guys have never come to visit me, you’re always welcome to.”

“It’s hard, with work,” his mother cajoled, “Not even… Not even for Thanksgiving? Next year?”

Alfred shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, guilt gnawing at him, “I’m sorry, I can’t do it. I’ve felt so awful all weekend – I’ve worked so hard not to feel like this, and I can’t jeopardize that.”

“Wasn’t some of it good, though? You seemed like you liked the pumpkin pancakes, they used to be your favorite.”

Alfred felt himself tearing up again, and he turned his head from his mother, his father – the shock and sadness on their faces _hurt._ He’d always wanted to make them proud – the fact that it was a choice between his own health and their pride was _fucking awful_. “Everything here reminds me of what they did. Of how I felt. Please, visit me – but stop asking me to stay. I won’t. I can’t.”

Matthew stood up, stood behind him, and Alfred leaned into the warmth of his sweater, closing his eyes. What if his parents refused? What if this was truly the end? After the tentative steps they’d taken to repair what they had, it could all be over. Again.

His mother stood up, pulled Alfred to her, and Alfred let her rock him, gently. Alfred’s thoughts mingled, not unpleasantly but definitely clashing - _I needed this from you years ago_ lapped against _please don’t let me go, I know kids who died with their parents still hating them and it’s awful how much of a step up this is from that._

“I’m sorry we pushed you away. I’m sorry you can’t stay here,” she said, a slight crack in her voice. “Alfred, I’m so, so sorry.”

Matthew was behind him, his mother held him, his father stood to pat his head, gently. They didn’t promise to visit him, but they didn’t ask him to stay again, either. Was it enough? Would it ever be enough?

“We love you, Alfred,” his father said.

_I needed this from you years ago,_ Alfred thought, _and I don’t know if I need it now. But god,_ god _does it feel good_.

* * *

Alfred almost wanted to cancel on Kiku after the emotional exhaustion of the earlier evening. He knew he couldn’t though – not with his departure imminent, the last chance to make something fulfilling out of this trip slipping from his grip.

Still, he couldn’t hide his exhaustion as he knocked on the door, couldn’t plaster his usual grin on his face.

Kiku answered and immediately picked up on his exhaustion, his sadness. He ushered Alfred in, clasping his hand as he led him through the dimly-lit living room.

It was quiet. Soft. There wasn’t the _noise_ here, the throbbing stress headache. He felt safe, hiding and cocooned in Kiku’s new house. It was unfamiliar, that was why. It didn’t hold anything painful, save their awkward first night together, but that was nothing.

“I thought, perhaps, a movie might be a good idea,” Kiku suggested. “Even before you came here.”

“Just a movie?”

“ _Just a movie_ , Alfred.”

Alfred’s attempt at a joke drained him further, and he sunk into the couch. He needed to tell Kiku too, probably. That was for later, though.

“What kind of movie?” Kiku asked.

“Ohhh, what about horror?”

Kiku raised a brow. “Horror? You still like…” He cut himself off.

“Yeah! I love it. I’m way less scared by it now, too.” Alfred grinned and gave Kiku a thumbs up. It was hollow, not nearly as energetic as normal, but Alfred had heard if he faked happy for long enough it might start to settle in.

Kiku spread out a collection of atmospheric, Japanese horror. Alfred shuddered pleasantly and told him to pick his favorite.

Kiku made a bowl of popcorn, which he sat on his lap and let Alfred grab from.

A good kick of adrenaline jolted him out of his funk for a bit, and he spent the movie shivering behind Kiku, and screaming loud enough to make Kiku clap his hands over his ears at more than one point, but it wasn’t painful. It was a fun fear, unattached from real terror.

At one point, Alfred jolted so violently that the popcorn bowl went flying from Kiku’s lap and spilled over the floor – the withering glance from Kiku was almost scarier than the film itself.

The movie ended with a final, eerie howl, and twanging music filled the dark room. Alfred dared to peek out from behind Kiku’s shoulders. “Hooooo-boy,” he laughed, shaking violently, “Wow! What a good one, right? Not even that scary, no-sir – eep!”

The studio’s logo flashing on the screen made him jump back in fright.

“Right,” Kiku said, trying to push himself up from the couch.

“Noooooo,” Alfred whined, “Don’t leave me on the dark couch, all alone.”

Kiku rolled his eyes. “I’ll be right here, Alfred. I just need to clean up the popcorn.”

Alfred popped his head up to rest it on Kiku’s shoulder, so their cheeks were parallel. “Oh, right. I guess I should help with that.”

They disentangled themselves and began the cleanup process – as the adrenaline dissipated, Alfred felt himself slowly sinking back into his previous exhaustion. He needed to help, but all he wanted to do was collapse on the couch and stare at the wall for a bit.

All of the popcorn, or most of it, got tossed back into the bowl, and Alfred sunk against the couch, on the floor, as Kiku stood to throw it away.

 “What now?” He murmured to himself.

Kiku came back, curled himself into the space between Alfred’s spread legs and rested his head on Alfred’s chest. Alfred felt his heartbeat, pounding against Kiku’s ear, wondered what Kiku was thinking as he listened to it. He wrapped his arms around Kiku, pulled him close. Even now, even so long after, they were still cuddled together in the dark, hidden away – seeing each other in between business as usual because they were so _scared_ what would happen if they were out in the open.

Alfred didn’t regret his decision to make this trip home his last. He pictured himself and Kiku, walking hand and hand into the grocery store where Ian worked – his mind cut him off there, so he didn’t make himself sick with anger.

The intro screen before the DVD flashed images of screaming faces and moving shadows, lighting up the two of them in an eerie gray glow. Alfred didn’t want to move to turn it off, not with Kiku holding him like this.

“What now?” He murmured again, this time to Kiku.

Kiku shrugged. He was so warm, and the movement of his shoulders left hot traces on Alfred’s body. “You don’t mean _now_ now, I suppose?”

Alfred shook his head. The simple, undeniable fact was that he still _liked_ Kiku. He supposed he’d never really stopped liking him – not that he hadn’t loved Ivan when the two of them were dating. They got closure, though. The break up was concrete, solid – no shredded pieces still embedded in him once it was over, though he had been heartbroken for a while.

He had _loved_ Kiku before. The unpleasantness of his senior year stole some of that from him, but Alfred could feel it buried somewhere, maybe caught in the tar of what he blocked out from his memory to survive, to function. He could let it out without bringing any of the bad to the surface too, he was confident.

“We could start over,” Alfred said, “We could end everything here – tonight. And then, when we both get back, get away from here, start fresh.”

Kiku seemed to mull it over. “Maybe… When should we meet up again, once we’re back? I don’t… It wouldn’t be good, leaving without that.”

Alfred nodded in agreement. “Is next weekend too soon? Too late? I haven’t been to SF in a while, we could wander… Go out to dinner…”

“Next weekend is perfect,” Kiku replied. “Saturday?”

“Saturday. I’ll text you. If I don’t by Wednesday, you text me.”

Kiku let out a soft “mm” of agreement. Then, he looked up at Alfred shyly. “So… How do you want this to end? I’m not going to sleep with you.” He added quickly – then he cracked a sly grin. “At least, not yet.”

Alfred grinned back, tired but not entirely unhappy. “How about this?” He reached down, lifted Kiku’s chin, gently, and pulled him into a kiss.

It was soft, at first – Kiku’s mouth fluttered gently against his, and Alfred closed his eyes to melt into it. Kiku tasted pleasantly like popcorn, and Alfred licked some of the residual salt and butter from his lips.

The tip of Kiku’s tongue touched against his, and he opened his lips to entice Kiku in.

Alfred felt his blood pumping, felt the heat rising in his cheeks as Kiku kissed him harder, deeper, wrapped his arms around Alfred’s neck and slid his upper body against his.

Eventually, they pulled away, a string of saliva still hanging between them, and Alfred buried his head in the crook of Kiku’s neck – feeling him, smelling him, taking him in.

It was late, and Alfred had an early flight to catch. He didn’t want to leave – it felt like if he did, Kiku might vanish out of his life again, this time for good.

It had been his decision to stop, to halt last time, though, and he trusted himself not to disappear again.

“Till Saturday?” Kiku questioned.

“Till Saturday.”

Kiku walked him out, stood with him on the dimly lit porch. Alfred, took Kiku’s hand, lead him out into the light, and looked into his shimmering dark eyes, nervous. He let his hand cup Kiku’s cheek, let the lamplight make Kiku’s pale skin glow, and let himself lean down to kiss Kiku softly one last time.

No darkness, no secrecy – just the two of them on the porch, proud and striving towards happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally intended to end this fic here, but it doesn't quite feel right. I think I have one more chapter to go - slightly more closure than "we'll meet up again later." Also, sorry about all the OCs! They were super in circa 2009 when I wrote the original fic lmao, and I didn't quite know how to get rid of them. Please leave any comments or constructive criticism that you may have!
> 
> Btw, would any of you be interested in a quick fic focused on Alfred's college years? I've been mulling over some concepts.


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred’s flight home was uneventful, bordering on boring. He didn’t reminisce.

He’d seen his parents maybe three times in the past six years, though they made an effort to Skype once every few months. He felt like every visit should have been some great emotional turning point in his life, but instead they just left him feeling frustrated and uncomfortable.

As Alfred collapsed into bed that night, he heard his phone buzz, and let the too-bright light of his smartphone screen wash over him.

 _See you soon, Alfred_. _^_^_

Kiku still used that silly emoticon. Alfred’s heart warmed in his chest, and he clutched his phone close to his body.

_See u soon <3_

Could they really start again? A fresh slate, all bridges burned and separation forgotten? Alfred hoped so. He’d been convinced he was going to marry Kiku, once. An optimistic kid with a future brighter than his big blue eyes imagined a world where he could settle down into domestic bliss just like his parents had - of course, he didn’t want to spook Kiku by telling him any of this, or doom himself to misery if it didn’t happen to work out, but at least he _could_ marry Kiku if he wanted to. 

God, he was overthinking again.

Alfred closed his eyes and sank into sleep, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He already missed the warmth of Kiku’s body against his.

* * *

There was something he was ignoring. Caught up in his excitement, he’d pushed away all negative thoughts and worries about the upcoming week, but as Sunday drew to a close and the date stood stark white in the corner of his laptop, Alfred started to come down from cloud nine.

The actual anniversary, the date of the assault, was coming up.

Alfred was unlucky enough to have separated the event into two dates in his mind: the calendar day it happened, as well as the time of the month, the Friday after Thanksgiving. Those, combined with how unpleasant that Thanksgiving itself had been, made for a miserable second half of November.

Monday turned into Tuesday, and on Wednesday, Alfred took the afternoon off to recuperate. He wondered briefly if he should call Ivan. He’d done that last year, but this year he wondered if Kiku would find it weird that he’d called his ex just before they were supposed to meet up.

Could they even meet up, still? _God,_ he wanted to see him again, and soon. If they didn’t, would Kiku slip away again, sand though his scarred fingers?

Friday morning, Alfred could barely get out of bed. It was the lingering cough after a cold. The nightmares during times of the year that reminded him of his trauma had slowly faded, but the oppressive exhaustion remained. From experience, he knew it wouldn’t simply go away once the anniversary was over.

He called in sick to work, and then he called Kiku to reschedule.

“I’m sorry,” Alfred explained, voice cracking, “I got so excited, I didn’t even think…”

“It’s all right,” Kiku reassured him, “Alfred, are you alone?”

“Mm,” Alfred confirmed, rubbing his temples wearily.

“How about I come over tonight? I can be there after class.”

“Kiku,” Alfred pleaded, embarrassed, “I’m a mess.”

“I don’t care.” There was an edge to Kiku’s voice, though not a threatening one. “I don’t… Okay, I’ll see you this evening. Unless, I mean, tell me if you _really_ don’t want, but don’t say no just because you feel like you should, but…”

Alfred smiled weakly into the receiver. “I won’t stop you. Just… Don’t make fun of me for looking awful.”

“I won’t. See you, Alfred.”

Alfred tried to perk up the energy to shower, but in the end the only thing he could do was shuffle toward the kitchen and munch on a bag of chips. Thankfully, his apartment mate wasn’t around.

_Two p.m., cornered behind the school._

Alfred brushed his teeth and mustered up the strength to change clothes. He tried to work, but his fingers kept tap-tap-tapping on the desk due to nerves, and he couldn’t concentrate.

_Five p.m., maybe, or was it four thirty? Found by Arthur, brought home. Passed out in his bed._

His phone buzzed. Alfred let Kiku into the apartment complex, nerves pricking at him as he waited for the doorbell to ring. A knock made him jump, even though he was expecting it.

Kiku gasped for breath as Alfred opened the door. His hair was disheveled, and he was still wearing his medical scrubs. Struggling to catch his breath, he lifted two bags of what smelled like take-out.

Alfred took them, mouth open in shock.  
“You…” Kiku managed. “Alfred, you do not look awful.”

Alfred managed a quick laugh. “Okay, okay. Not awful, just not so awesome.” He pulled Kiku into a tight hug, memorizing the curve of his back, the sharpness of his shoulder blades, the warmth of his skin. Hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he murmured, “Kiku, thank you.”

They ate burritos and chips and salsa, and Kiku didn’t get mad when the conversation lapsed into silence.

_Eight fifteen p.m., driven to the hospital. Emergency surgery. Darkness._

Kiku pulled up Netflix and they popped on a comedy, something light hearted and sweet. Alfred barely paid attention, instead focusing on the way Kiku’s fingers tickled the side of his head as it rested on Kiku’s thighs, on the blanket curled around him, on the was Kiku’s laughter rumbled through him.

Alfred managed to shower that night, and Kiku curled around him in a pair of Alfred’s boxers, pressed for space on the twin bed. His breath was hot on the back of Alfred’s neck, his arms strong and protective. Alfred had always boasted about saving Kiku, about beating up anyone who would try to hurt him. It… Hadn’t worked out that way.

Kiku didn’t move the whole night, and Alfred’s sleep was dreamless.

_Seven thirty-three a.m., woken up by the beeping of medical equipment. Alone._

Alfred blinked open his eyes and clicked on his phone to check the time. Still early morning, Saturday dawning gray and soft. He sighed. Another year, another anniversary gone by. He gripped Kiku’s hand, still wrapped firmly around him, and dozed back off.

* * *

Saturday, Alfred managed to build up the energy to go for a walk. He tentatively touched the side of Kiku’s palm as they walked together, and his hands barely even shook as they wandered along busy streets, hand in hand.

They ate frozen pizza for dinner, because Alfred didn’t know how to nor had the energy to cook, and they shared Alfred’s bed again that night. Kiku rolled onto his back, just the barest bit of stomach exposed as his shirt rode up, and Alfred stroked his thumb along the soft skin. Kiku giggled, drawn back to wakefulness, and scooted away from Alfred with a grumble.

Alfred smiled. It felt like the excitement of their new relationship back in his first years of high school, but with none of the guilt or fear. No, that wasn’t quite right – it was the excitement of a new relationship. That was it.

They were starting over.

* * *

Kiku and Alfred spent their weekdays apart, working their respective jobs, skyping every other night. Sometimes, they’d watch episodes of old TV shows, and sometimes Alfred or Kiku would doze off during their conversation, only to wake later that night to a good night message.

They spent their weekends together, either at home as Kiku studied or, in the brief lapses in work, out at one of the many attractions a simple car ride away. It was the most Alfred had gotten out since moving west. They went to bars, boardwalks, and even the occasional club – something Alfred could never do by himself, and hadn’t quite gotten close enough to his coworkers to do with them.

They were _dating_. Dinners, movies, and dances – not sleepovers disguised as study sessions and sloppy handjobs hidden in the woods, or in his room with Kiku’s hand over his mouth. Alfred hadn’t been so energized in a long time, his body thrummed with the thrill of it.

 _Dating_.

* * *

A good day began when Alfred woke up, bright and energized. They drove to the coast in the aching chill of February and spent hours hiking along jagged rocks, fingers and feet blistering as they grabbed onto the cragged edges to keep steady, as his shoes slipped along wet paths and slid along muddy trails.

They ate store-bought sandwiches, breath puffing out around them, as waves crashed onto the cold beach before them. Alfred reached out, tentative, and wrapped his pinky around Kiku’s. Kiku slid his cold hand over his, and their fingers twined together.

They rode back to Alfred’s apartment, shivering, and slipped into his room. Alfred blushed, shy, as he stripped off his wet socks, then his shirt, then his jeans. Kiku’s eyes widened and his gaze slid to him, mouth open, slightly.

Alfred stood there, in his boxers, and leaned down to swipe a sheen of saliva from Kiku’s lip, his thumb lingering on the edge.

“I want to touch you,” Alfred murmured. “You’re so warm.”

“I can think of something else that will warm you up,” Kiku replied, “If that’s alright.”

Alfred gulped and nodded. Kiku slid off his own shirt and pants, and he pulled Alfred onto the bed, sinking to his knees in front of him.

“Oh,” Alfred gasped, shoulders flushed with want.

Kiku hesitated, on his knees in front of Alfred. “If it’s too much…”

“Kiku,” Alfred assured him, “I’ll tell you to stop if I need to. You need to trust me.” He looked away, cheeks a dusty pink. “I trust you, after all.”

The room was quiet. Kiku ducked his head to hide the emotion in his eyes, and pressed his lips to the outside of Alfred’s boxers. He tongued at it, mouthing at the fabric, grinning at the sounds Alfred was making.

Kiku’s hands were at Alfred’s waistband, and Alfred scooted forward to help him slip his boxers off-

And slid down onto the floor, off the bed. Kiku laughed, and Alfred blushed, readjusting his glasses. Alfred kicked off his boxers, and Kiku’s head was between his legs, his mouth-

Alfred moaned as Kiku’s lips closed around the tip of his length, and he curled forward, fingers threading through Kiku’s short hair.

Kiku _sucked_ , taking Alfred in deeper, and Alfred arched back with a choked-off cry. It was hot, the chill of earlier forgotten as a red flush spread through him. He wrapped his legs about Kiku, drawing him closer, gasping as _he_ got closer, closer-

Alfred came with a cry, laughing as he came down from his post-orgasmic high. Kiku swallowed, and Alfred blushed bright red. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his hand grasping himself, hard under his sweatpants.

“Let me take care of that,” Alfred teased, pushing Kiku onto his back. Kiku smiled, and let himself sink into the warmth of Alfred’s mouth.

* * *

Alfred still called Ivan, occasionally. He sometimes wondered whether, now that he had a new boyfriend, he really should be talking to his ex-boyfriend. His relationship with Ivan had been so transformative, though – coinciding with his growing acceptance of his sexuality and his first steps toward actually being _better_. In many ways, Ivan had been the reason for that. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to give him up.

“So, how’s Yao?” Alfred asked, trying to keep _sullen_ out of his tone.

“Good,” Ivan said, illuminated by a flickering desk light. It was March in Russia, and he was still wrapped up in his scarf and two thick sweaters, puffed out like a polar bear. “We celebrated our one year anniversary the other day.”

“Mm, did you go out?”

Ivan sighed, softly. “Yeah. The waiter kept asking if we were celebrating a promotion, or a business deal. I told him we were. Couldn’t exactly tell him the truth.”

Ivan chuckled, indicating that it was alright for Alfred to laugh as well. Alfred winced, but he managed to bark out something vaguely resembling laugh.

“You were saying you’ve been going out a lot more lately?” Ivan questioned, interested.

Alfred nodded, eyes lighting up. “Yeah! I got to the Santa Cruz boardwalk for the first time.”

“Haven’t you been living there for a year and a half? You really should get out more…”

“I’ve been busy,” Alfred said, offended. “Trying to make the big bucks, you know? Earn the American Dream.”

Ivan laughed. “Of course, your American dream. You’re so silly.”

Alfred bristled, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d kind of accepted that his emotions were always going to be at least a _little_ erratic. “Oh yeah? And what’s your Russian dream? Drinking vodka and being cold? Not being able to tell your waiter that you’re celebrating a _one year anniversary_?”

Ivan was silent, the same kind of silent he became when he was angry, made even worse by the chilly smile plastered on his face. Alfred winced.

“Sorry. I just… I’m worried about you, you know?”

“I think you’re trying to change the subject so I won’t be mad at you.”

Alfred groaned, “You already _are_ mad at me. I can see it on your face.”

Ivan sighed, chilly smile dropping off his face. “Don’t worry about me, Alfred, okay? I can handle myself.”

“Vanya,” Alfred whined, using Ivan’s nickname, the one he reserved for when he wanted to be especially incessant. “Don’t you want to come back, though? It’s much warmer here, too.”

“I don’t hate it here, Alfred,” Ivan explained, a little annoyed, “My family is from here. My coworkers who are my age are so much kinder about being gay than what I remember from the last time I visited, maybe ten years ago.” He looked Alfred in the eye. “I have to believe people are capable of change. That it can get better.”

Alfred sighed. If he was being honest, Ivan was right, though he wouldn’t admit it. Hadn’t he spent so long, hoping for changes that crept up gradually? Wasn’t the life he was living now better than the one he’d left long ago?

Wasn’t it dangerous to get complacent that the place he was in would stay so great forever?

“Don’t worry about me, Alfred,” Ivan repeated, voice taking on a gentler tone, one he used to use when Alfred was panicking back when they were together. “Don’t let worrying about me overwhelm your own progress.”

“It’s hard not to,” Alfred grumbled, but there was no edge to his words.

“I know,” Ivan said, “I know. Lots of things are hard. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to work for them, though.”

Alfred closed his eyes.

“You’ll find your peace, Alfred. You’re already closer to it than you were when we met.”

Alfred opened his eyes again. He smiled.

* * *

After their disastrous first attempt at sex, Alfred and Kiku had approached the topic with a sense of caution. A couple of blowjobs or handjobs here and there was about as far as they got for a while, and then one day, Alfred broached the topic one lazy Sunday morning as they were lying in bed.

The term “fresh start” was a little bit misleading. There was too much emotional baggage for a complete blank slate, too much hurt, but the least they could do was assuage some of the worst effects of it. How could they move on if Kiku was afraid of hurting Alfred when they had sex, to the point that he didn’t trust Alfred’s own judgement on the matter?

It was the one barrier fear had prevented them from crossing back in high school, it wouldn’t be a barrier now that they were away from it.

“I want you,” Alfred murmured, voice husky, quiet as he heard the rustle of his apartment mate outside.

Kiku pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I want you, too.”

They were relaxed, loose, not like at their first meeting back in November, when every touch sent sparks of fire through Alfred, painful and intense and delirious. Kiku’s hand was warmth and gentleness, and Alfred melted into it.

Kiku rolled him onto his back, his leg lying lazily to the side as Kiku’s fingered loosened him up, as he relaxed inside and out.

Alfred remembered the spark of pain as he’d sunk down on Kiku the last time they’d slept together, but this time Kiku slid into him softly. He was full, stretched, but not aching. At least, he thought wickedly, not _yet_.

Kiku thrust into him and Alfred’s world tilted sideways.

They spent the morning like that, wrapped up in each other, rolling around in the sheets like newlyweds and gasping the other’s name. Alfred came crying Kiku’s name, and Kiku bit into Alfred’ shoulder as he rode out his own orgasm. Kiku tossed out the condom and they lay there, sweaty in bed, until Kiku pulled Alfred up to take a shower.

From there, a whole new _world_ opened up. Alfred would show up at Kiku’s door on Friday and it would take all his strength not to immediately rip off Kiku’s scrubs from rotation and fuck him right there, on the apartment floor, the door open behind them.

They rented hotels sometimes, so they didn’t have to hide their gasps and moans from their apartment mates – though Kiku, and even Alfred, sometimes got a thrill out of having his voice muffled.

There were still limits – Kiku suggested using toys one night and Alfred flatly said that nothing non-organic was going near his ass, for the time being. There always would be.

Kiku realized that _listening_ to Alfred was infinitely more useful than worrying constantly if what he was doing was too much, too intense.

(And anyway, it hardly ever was.)

* * *

There were still bad days, and they popped up unexpectedly in the form of nightmares, of a strange scent that brought Alfred back to some long-buried memory. The annoying thing, in Alfred’s mind, was that he could never tell if a Bad Day meant needing to drown himself in human comfort, to have his emotions validated, to have love wash over him until he stopped shaking – or if it meant he needed to be _alone_ until it passed.

Kiku got to experience both, sometimes in the same day. There was a pretty steep learning curve, and it didn’t always go right – sometimes, Alfred found himself seething in frustration, because at one point he’d _had_ a person who had a handle on what he needed during an episode, and suddenly he was back to being plunged into cold water, fumbling in the dark.

Sometimes, he still called Ivan – they were still friends, after all. Mostly, though, he tried not to. He’d linger on both his and Kiku’s names, weighing whether the familiar comfort was worth a lost opportunity for Kiku to help him. Alfred knew Kiku was closer, and Kiku was _there_ , and they needed to build together.

It was also frustrating because he knew he’d need to repeat the process _every single time_ he tried to get close to someone, romantically or not, and some days he wanted to push everyone away to avoid the rocky strain of this beginning part.

Alfred was better enough to realize some things. Mostly, that none of this was Kiku’s fault, and that he did his best, which was infinitely better than facing his demons alone.

He knew, even huddled under layers of blankets to fight off a chill that just wouldn’t _leave him alone_ , that it was worth the strain to trust again.

Sometimes, when he needed to shout down a lingering demon in the middle of the night, he heard Kiku whisper _I love you_ , protecting him with its golden warmth. It made things just that little bit easier.

* * *

It was warm in July, a few days climbing to unbearably hot. Second year medical students didn’t get much of a break, but Kiku spent a lot of time with Alfred to avoid the inexplicable chill of San Francisco in the summer, and also to avoid the high-tension environment of his apartment full of other med students. One day, Matthew shot Alfred a text after a good while with no contact.

_Can I come visit for the fourth?_

It was fraught territory for him to ask whether he could visit for their birthdays. There were albums upon albums of them celebrating together, at the skating rink, at the park, at the Chuck-E-Cheese in town, but once high school hit there had been a split. They fought over whether their parties should be hockey or football themed, both wanted to invite drastically different friends.

So, Matthew disguised it. Getting together to celebrate their great nation – though Alfred had a sneaking suspicion that Matthew would be applying for Canadian citizenship any day now.

Matthew stayed with him. Alfred took him to the board walk, took him hiking nearby. They wandered through cute towns scattered throughout the bay area, making small talk about nothing, watching the sunset from a marina right on the bay.

Finally, after Alfred was sufficiently relaxed, Matthew dropped his bombshell.

“I’m not talking to mom and dad,” Matthew said, dully.

Alfred’s eyes widened, he gaped at his brother. “Jesus, Mattie, what happened?”

“Nothing,” Matthew responded, sullenly, “Everything… I don’t know. They’ve been calling me twice a week, complaining that you aren’t coming home again. I think that _they_ think they can wash their hands of everything because they’ve given you the bare minimum support, but you’re still dealing with this _every day_.”

“Wha…?” Alfred gasped, “Matt, what did you _say_?”

Matthew looked up at him, lower lip trembling. “That unless tried harder to make it up to you, I wouldn’t come back anymore either. This was in march, and I haven’t spoken to them since.”

Alfred groaned, loudly, and hid his head in his hands. “Matt, you _idiot_.”

“What?” Matthew responded, offended. “They’re being unfair to you.”

“And they’re still better than some of my friends’ parents, and I _hate_ it. Matt, why would you willingly put yourself through this?” Alfred let out a sharp, frustrated sound. “You’re so _lucky._ I would’ve given anything to be treated like they treat you, and you just threw it away! Why would you _do_ that?”

“You feel like you need to settle for what they give you,” Matthew shot back. “But you _don’t_. Alfred, you could’ve _died-_ ”

“That’s enough,” Alfred snapped, cutting the conversation off from further input. “I’m not talking about that with you. Matt, what if you just made it worse?”

Matthew was quiet, and Alfred’s heart ached. His brother was just trying to help, and it seemed that he genuinely thought that this was the final hurdle that would _make things right_ again. Just like Alfred had thought the same about going home.

They were all struggling to find common ground, but sometimes everything felt like it was too little, too late.

“I need you to be honest,” Matthew pleaded. “What do you want from us? Perfect, ideal world, what could we do to help you?”

Alfred sighed. He wished, not for the first time, that none of this had happened. “We should’ve talked to Mom and Dad about this, together. I guess we need to, now. I want things to be better, but I don’t need you making snap decisions based on what you _think_ I want.” His eyes slid to Matthew, who looked up at him miserably. “Making snap decisions is my job.”

“I’m sorry, Al, I should have asked you first,” Matthew sighed. He rested his head on Alfred’s shoulder, and a lump swelled in Alfred’s throat. “I sometimes think if I over-act now, it’ll somehow make up for how little I did back then.”

Tears welled up in Alfred’s eyes, and Matthew pulled back immediately.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, what did I say?” Matthew stammered, desperate.

“Nothing,” Alfred replied, wiping his eyes bitterly, “It just… It still _hurts_. I wish I could give you the definite answer you’re looking for.”

“I love you, Alfred,” Matthew stared him directly in the eye, hands gripping his shoulders. “I love you so much, and nothing’s going to change that. I swear to god, I’d chop my hand off if it meant you’d believe me.”

“Jesus,” Alfred spluttered, “Okay, you don’t need to do that. I _do_ believe you, and Mattie, I love you too.” He sighed. “I wish the people who loved you never disappointed you, but that’s not realistic – and you _try_ to make it up to me. I can tell every time we’re together, you’re walking on eggshells trying to balance supporting me and keeping everyone happy.”

Matthew blushed and looked away.

“Just, one thing, though,” Alfred began, and Matthew looked up at him expectantly. “I did know we couldn’t keep going just the way they were. It was either talk things out or start cutting off contact for good. But just in case they do get in touch, and they don’t react well to your ultimatum…” Alfred fixed Matthew with an intense stare. “Matt, I need you to be there for me.” 

“I will,” Matthew promised.

Alfred nodded. “I believe you.”

They watched the fireworks from the pier in San Francisco. Matthew’s eyes were red, or maybe that was just the light from the fireworks. Alfred’s hands were shaking, lightly, but it could have easily been from the chill in the air.

Kiku linked their fingers together, and Alfred squeezed his hand gently.

* * *

Alfred and Kiku moved in together as July turned to August. They were already spending most weekends at each other’s place, and the settled on an apartment equidistant between their two places of work. Some might’ve said it was a little bit soon, but after all, they’d been together before, and for a good few years.

The dreaded conversation didn’t happen for a while, and Alfred wondered with a pang if that really was the end of it.

Alfred worked hard, got papers published, and wondered about graduate school. He didn’t see any immediate reason to – he was making _great_ money for someone with a bachelors’ degree. The thought briefly occurred to him that he could apply for graduate school as Kiku applied for residency positions – that way they’d stay together.

He decided he’d wait for a little bit longer to bring that up, though. As the summer continued along, Kiku became more and more swamped with med school studying, and Alfred found himself spending long hours bringing Kiku tea as he flipped through yet another medical textbook.

“Jesus, and you still have two more years of this?” Alfred winced as Kiku entered his sixth consecutive hour of studying.

Kiku nodded, feverishly, and Alfred kissed him on the top of the head, rubbing his shoulders gently.

One day, Alfred was lazing around at home, a particularly stressful workload keeping Kiku cooped up in his campus library. A text made his phone buzz, and he frowned – the only person who ever texted him was Kiku, who was presumably balls deep in some awful textbook.

_Alfred, we love you_

Alfred sighed. His father.

 _What did Matt do this time?_ He texted back. Avoiding the issue.

Three little dots popped up, disappeared, then popped up again. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his phone buzzed again.

_He just talked to us. I guess he told you about his ultimatum. Al, what do you want us to do?_

It was the same thing Matthew had asked, the same thing everyone wanted to know. Sometimes, Alfred didn’t want to have to spoon-feed his family on how to act around him.

 _Tell me you love me again,_ Alfred typed in childishly. _And that if anything else happens, you’ll stick by me._ His fingers lingered, hovering above the send button.

He didn’t press it. Instead, he phrased it as a question, something he’d wanted to ask desperately for six long years.

_Do you love me? The next person who asks, will you tell them you’re proud of me?_

His phone buzzed.

 _We love you, Alfred,_ was the response. _We’re proud of you._

Alfred smiled, a lump in his throat. It might be as good as he would every get, and he supposed it would never erase everything they’d said or done before accepting him, but for now – he could take it.

* * *

Alfred took Kiku out to dinner to celebrate the completion of his first round of med school exams. The waiter asked what the occasion was, and he spluttered out _my boyfriend finished his exam_ , tongue catching on the word _boyfriend_ like it was a cobblestone underfoot.

There was a moment of tense silence, or maybe it was just tense in Alfred’s mind, and the waiter clapped him on the back and offered Kiku a warm, jovial congratulations.

He thought, briefly, of Ivan, thousands of miles away, and he swallowed down his concern.

 _I have to believe people are capable of change_.

Alfred reached out and grabbed Kiku’s hands, massaging the tight muscles and laughing at the stain of his writing utensil on his palm. He clung to it, and he clung to his hope, and reveled in their very public celebratory dinner.

* * *

November approached. Kiku passed his exams with flying colors and began to plan out his dream residency.

Alfred could count the nightmares he’d had in the past year on one hand.

“Our anniversary is coming up,” Kiku purred into his ear, straddling his half-naked body one evening. “Our re-anniversary, I suppose.”

Alfred grinned and pulled him close, skin to skin, mouth to mouth. “Finally, something to celebrate around this time of year.”

Later on, Alfred got a text from his parents, asking if they could come to California for Thanksgiving. Alfred responded that he wasn’t doing thanksgiving, but they were still free to visit. In fact, he’d be happy if they visited.

This was truly the last of it – the one bit that still stuck to him, cold like the San Francisco fog, lapping at him like the ocean nearby. It was dust in the air, sometimes he could watch it flutter in a ray of sunlight, not disturbing him – sometimes it got inside and made his eyes water. But with time, and thorough cleaning, the problem became less pronounced.

Kiku came up behind him, and Alfred melted into his touch.

* * *

Kiku watched Alfred putting a slab of bacon in the pan for breakfast.

“Bacon pancakes,” Alfred chirped, like he was a genius for coming up with the idea. “I am a genius for coming up with this idea.”

There it was. Kiku rolled his eyes good naturedly, one hand on a bowl of pancake batter, the other clutching a whisk, swirling it around to find any final lumps. Alfred was skinnier than he’d been back when they first started dating, but not unhealthily so. Kiku kind of liked the lean muscle in his arms, the way his ass just barely filled out the fabric of his pajama pants.

He remembered back in high school, Alfred on his stomach, overwhelmed by the strong urge to squeeze the slight pudge that filled out his jeans and spilled over from his stomach. It was mostly muscle then, too, but football players didn’t need to be skinny, and Alfred loved to eat.

They were playing video games, or maybe they were reading comic books. Alfred was on his stomach because they were on the floor in his basement, maybe in his old tree house. The steady creak of footprints above meant he couldn’t indulge himself, not just yet.

Once, long ago, Kiku had dreamed of marrying Alfred. Back when he was bright eyed and optimistic about the future, he imagined the two of them together in holy matrimony and domestic bliss. Real concerns crept into his fantasies, but for the most part, the biggest concern for him had been whether he wanted to do a traditional Japanese ceremony or keep it more western.

Years later, those same thoughts crept back to him as he watched Alfred ladle pancake batter over a sizzling slice of bacon on a sizzling griddle.

Kiku crept forward and wrapped himself around Alfred from behind, taking the opportunity to _indulge_ and slide his hand along the curve of Alfred’s ass.

“Am I gaining weight?” Alfred fretted, poking at a pancake with the spatula.

Kiku shook his head, nose brushing the back of Alfred’s neck.

 _Domestic bliss_. So, this was what it was like.

How liberating, just to know that it was possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled trying to resolve the stuff with his family, I'll be honest. Maybe I can hide behind the whole ~ooooh not everything always gets resolved~, haha. I hope it was at least sort of satisfactory! Thanks so much for sticking around, I know my updates have been sporadic. Let me know if you have any comments or constructive criticism!


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